A Good Man
by C.A. Connor
Summary: A midnight conversation changes everything for Rick and Andrea.
1. Chapter 1

There was a definite chill in the air as Andrea sat perched atop the RV, but she was hard pressed to tell if she was shivering solely on account of the weather. Her binoculars seemed to be drifting of their own accord towards the flattened patch of grass where Dale had fallen only a few hours earlier. She kept trying to push the older man's face from her mind and focus on the task at hand, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to fight the sadness intent on creeping into her thoughts.

Frustrated by what she felt was her own weakness, she sighed and shook her head. "You can cry later," she muttered to herself. "Gotta protect the group." Taking a deep breath, she brought her binoculars to her eyes once again, scanning the horizon, determined to do her duty.

A sudden rustling of canvas drew her attention, and she turned her head to see a tall, dark figure emerge from a nearby tent. The height and stance of the silhouetted shape told her immediately that the figure was Rick, and she watched with interest as he raked his fingers through his hair and began to pace in an agitated manor. Clouds shifted and he was quickly illuminated by the moonlight. He had yet to notice her curious gaze, and she took the opportunity to admire the unaware Deputy Sheriff.

Tall and leanly muscled, he cast a striking figure, clad as he was in black jeans that hugged his slim hips and long legs. His ever-present utility belt was slung low, holding his Python in a holster that rested against his right thigh. He'd thrown on a rumpled canvas shirt, the collar of which was unbuttoned enough to reveal a swath of pale skin and a sprinkling of chest hair. His strong jaw was tightly clenched under a day's worth of stubble, his vivid blue eyes almost imperceptible under his deeply furrowed brow. The waves of his thick, dark hair were slightly bedraggled, likely from an earlier effort to sleep.

Andrea smiled to herself, then shook her head. It felt like years had passed since she'd introduced herself to Rick by shoving a gun in his face. She felt like it had been longer still that she'd been attracted to him. She took pride, however, in the strength she'd relied on to prevent herself from acting on that attraction, knowing from experience that no good would come from chasing a married man. Still, she told herself there was no harm in looking.

The sound of Rick clearing his throat startled her from her thoughts, and she blinked a few times before quickly meeting his slightly bemused gaze. How long had he been watching her stare at him? Feigning nonchalance, she lifted her hand in a wave of acknowledgement, then turned away from him, fumbling for an instant with her binoculars in an effort to make a show of returning to her sentry duties.

Moments later she heard the faint clinking of boots on the RV ladder. "Any action out there tonight?" Rick asked as he sat down next to her chair.

Andrea cast him a sidelong glance. "Nope."

He turned his head slightly towards her. "You doing okay?" He asked. "I know you and Dale were… close."

She nodded. "I'll get there," she replied without inflection,

"Because if you need some time, Daryl or I could take over for you, or-"

Andrea smiled faintly as she cut him off. "I'll be fine, Rick." She thought she saw him bristle slightly out of the corner of her eye, and was quick to add, "but thanks for the offer."

Turning back to stare into the darkness, Rick offered a pensive "Hmm," in response.

Silence ensued, punctuated only by insistent crickets calling to one another across the endless fields bathed in darkness around the RV. Andrea was all too aware of the Sheriff's presence, just as she had been so long ago when they had stood next to one another, alone in the department store. From beneath her lowered lashes, her eyes scanned his long legs stretched out in front of him, and she was sure she could feel his body heat seeping through her thin cotton shirt. The silence between the pair stretched out; the night air began to feel thick and smothering to Andrea, and she felt compelled to break into the quiet. "Can't sleep?" she said at last.

Rick sighed. "Nope. Brain's too wound up."

Andrea turned to face him. "Might help to talk about it," she offered.

"You sound like Lori," he said dryly, with a wry smile.

"God, I hope not," Andrea snorted without thinking. Rick swivelled his head quickly, pinning her with a surprised look.

She blushed slightly, and said rapidly, "Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant…" Andrea paused, searching for a diplomatic way to express her dislike of the woman. "It's just that… your wife and I don't really… see eye to eye on everything," she finally offered.

"Mmm." He rubbed absently at the stubble covering his jaw.

There was a brief silence once again, and Andrea silently chastised her big mouth, certain she'd deeply offended the man.

Just as she opened her mouth to offer another apology though, he spoke again. "I suppose that's fair enough," he conceded. "There are things she and I don't see eye to eye on either."

"That what's got your brain wound up?"

Rick exhaled loudly, and a small smile tugged at his lips. "Sort of."

Andrea nodded, and waited to see if he would continue.

"I guess I just…" He paused and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger before bringing his gaze back to meet Andrea's. "I probably shouldn't lay it all on you."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm pretty sure I can take it Rick," she retorted. "Just go ahead and lay on me all you want."

Rick's eyebrows shot upwards.

Andrea realized the implication of her words immediately, and turned her face from him, though not before he noted her furious blushing. "Oh shut up," she grumbled as she heard him chuckle. "You know what I mean."

His mirth passed quickly. "Yeah, I do." He shifted his focus to the horizon. "It's this whole Randall thing, I guess. I mean, I stood in a barn today, prepared to kill a kid. Hell, if Carl hadn't shown up, I probably would have done it. And I… I feel like I'm someone I don't even know, you know? I mean, what the hell happened to my morals? I used to see myself as… as a good man. I took care of my family. I helped people as a cop. And now…" He closed his eyes wearily. "Now I'm a guy prepared to execute a defenceless child if I need to."

Andrea look sympathetically at the man next to her. "And what does Lori say?"

He sighed. "She says that if _I_ think _I'm_ making the right choices, she supports me."

"Jesus, what a cop-out."

Rick frowned at the blunt response.

"Oh come on, Rick," she said with exasperation. "Either Lori has an opinion that she's not sharing with you, or she can't bring herself to decide one way or the other about such a horrible thing, so she's just letting you do the heavy lifting. Now, I've spent time with your wife, Officer, and you and I both know that if she's got an opinion, she speaks her mind."

Andrea felt within herself the spark of passion she used to feel in the courtroom, felt herself gearing up. "It's awfully easy for the people in our group to pass judgement on your decisions, but I don't see any of them standing up to make the tough calls. I don't see anyone else tying nooses in barns or asking a child for his last words."

She saw him opening his mouth to speak, and anticipating his question said, "Daryl told me."

Rick nodded, his expression unreadable.

"And as for morals," she continued, "Rick, the morals of the old world don't exist anymore. The only morals that matter now are dictated by survival. Nothing from your old life could have prepared you for the decisions you make now. You're in No-Man's land. And yet, every time there's a hard choice to make, you step up and you make it. And I'll tell you something else: I'm pretty sure you've done the most moral thing anyone can do. You saw a group of strangers, and you decided to put the weight of the world on your shoulders and make us your responsibility. You put yourself at risk to keep us safe. Your kid looks at you and sees a man who protects those who need it. Anyone willing to do what you've done is a good man, Rick."

Her diatribe over, Andrea fell back against her chair heavily. Damn, that felt good, she thought. Like a closing argument. Like her old life. She sat smiling for a moment, enjoying the satisfaction, realizing how long it had been since she had felt it, realizing she had missed it. Her happiness began to dissipate however as moments stretched into minutes, and her companion failed to utter a single word. Had she over-stepped? Failed to convince him? Offended him somehow? She looked down at her hands, studied them. Finally, she convinced herself to look at him. He was staring at her, his expression inscrutable. She thought perhaps she saw admiration in his eyes, and possibly something else. Something that made her feel simultaneously warm and anxious. She wondered if she was just seeing what she wanted to see. She squirmed slightly under his intense study of her, until at last she blurted, "Well Jesus, Rick, say something."

His lips parted in slow, wide smile that made her stomach flip-flop. "I'll bet you were one hell of a lawyer," he drawled, his voice a low timbre. He tucked his legs underneath himself and stood, keeping his eyes fixed on hers as she tilted her face upwards to follow his movements. Looking down at her, her face framed in the moonlight by errant blonde tendrils of hair, he found himself wondering if her eyes had always been such a beautiful blue-green color. Impulsively, he bent down, placed his hand beneath her chin. With excruciating slowness, he pressed a soft, gentle kiss to her cheek. "Thank you," he murmured, before straightening back up and moving to the RV ladder.

Andrea unconsciously brought her fingers to her face, feeling the warmth on her cheek where his lips had been. Her eyes followed him as he sauntered back to his tent. She watched as he unzipped the entrance to his tent, and her breath caught in her throat when he turned to give her one long, final look before disappearing into his make-shift home.

Feeling a heat that had nothing to do with the weather, Andrea turned back to the dark of the night. A few deep breaths in an effort to slow her erratic heartbeat told her that she was in trouble.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

_Full Disclosure, I haven't been able to get my hands on any of the graphic novels yet, no matter how desperately I want to, so I've never read them – somehow every bookstore within a hundred miles of my house is sold out. Jerks. I know the woman in the woods is Michonne, and I gather that Andrea spends time with her, but since my knowledge of the true story is so limited, I just decided to write an alternative story based on my obsession with the TV show. Thank you so much for all the positive feedback; it really motivated me to write more, and write fast!_

Trying to pinpoint exactly how everything had gone to hell in an instant was likely an exercise in futility, but it didn't stop Rick from trying. Indeed, it was all he could think about as he stood guard over the sleeping group in the stone ruins where they'd been forced to make camp.

Randall. Shane. The herd. Jenner's secret. The wheels had fallen off so abruptly that his brain was still trying to process it. Had it only been earlier today when he'd given Dale's eulogy, vowing to bring the group together?

And Lori. The way she had recoiled from his touch after he'd told her about Shane had left a deep chill inside him that he had yet to shake. Her accusatory eyes were burned into his brain. She hadn't shown even an inkling of relief that he'd survived Shane's attempted murder; rather, she had looked at him with horror and disgust, like he was a monster, a threat to her own existence. He couldn't get the image out of his head.

He paced back and forth with increasing agitation. What choice had Shane given him? For that matter, what choice had Lori given him? He thought back to all the times she'd insisted that Shane was a danger, a threat. She had explicitly told him that Shane would kill to get what was his, and, as she had pointed out to him, Shane thought that both she and the baby were his. Hell, she'd practically predicted the showdown. Agitation gave way to anger. He stooped down, grabbing a stone from the ground and hurling it into the surrounding trees in an effort to vent his fury.

"Jesus, watch it!" came a familiar voice from the darkness.

His Python was drawn and aimed towards the sound in a heartbeat. "Who's there?" he barked.

There was a rustling of leaves, and a figure emerged from the night, carrying something large upon its back.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. "Andrea?" he asked with disbelief as his brain made sense of the scene. He holstered his gun. A few long strides erased the distance between them, and suddenly he was engulfing her in his arms, lifting her off the ground in his enthusiasm. "Oh my God, Andrea," he murmured, his words muffled by her hair.

Andrea was caught off guard, momentarily speechless at his warm reception. She tried not to notice how good he smelled as she laughed softly and eventually managed to reply, "Good to see you too, Rick."

The sound of her voice served to restore some of his senses, and he loosened his grip. She slid down his body until she felt her feet touch the ground. He moved his hands to grasp her shoulders before stepping back. "How…" he began, still not entirely convinced that she wasn't just some kind of hallucination. "They said they saw you fall."

Andrea smiled broadly. "You guys can't get rid of me that easily."

Rick returned the smile, then finally noticed the duffle bag slung across her back. "Oh my God, you got the guns?"

She wriggled out of the bag's strap and let it fall unceremoniously to the ground. "I did, though I'm afraid there's not a hell of a lot left in there."

The Deputy Sheriff frowned. "Walkers?"

She nodded. "And goddamn, those assholes just do not give up. I must've run for miles."

Feeling instinctively protective, Rick gently smoothed back a few wild blonde curls from her face, only vaguely aware that he was doing so. "So how'd you make it back to us?"

Andrea tried desperately to ignore his warm touch against her damp skin. "There was this… woman. Chained to a pair of walkers. She… she saved me."

Rick blinked several times, trying to comprehend the strange explanation. "A woman? Chained to…?" He shook his head, baffled. "So where is she now?"

The blonde woman shrugged. "I have no idea. She took out the last of the walkers coming after me, then she just disappeared. I didn't even have a chance to thank her."

"She tell you where to find us?" Rick pressed, though he couldn't imagine how this strange woman would've known where to look.

Andrea shook her head, still puzzled by the marked joy her appearance seemed to bring him. "I just got lucky I guess," she offered. "Saw the cars up on the highway."

He merely nodded.

When he offered no further response, but continued to grip her shoulders, her curiosity finally got the better of her. "Has something… happened, Rick? What's with…" she paused, searching for the right words. "Why are you suddenly thrilled to see me?"

Rick's smile waned as his arms dropped to his sides. "Yeah," he said on a sigh, his voice tempered by distinct undertones of sadness. "Yeah, some things have happened."

Eyeing him warily, she moved to pick up the duffle bag, and turned towards the slumbering group. "Alright, let me just go let them know I'm here, and then-"

"Andrea, wait." Rick's hand grabbed her wrist and halted her movements. She turned back to look at him questioningly, allowing the bag to drop back to the ground. "Let me just…" He raked his free hand through his hair. "I need to talk to you first." He glanced around, spying an elevated piece of land that would give him distance from the group while still giving him a clear line of sight to them. "Over there," he gestured with a nod, sliding his fingers from her wrist to her hand as he began to lead her to the more private vantage point.

The brief walk through the night seemed interminable to Andrea, a hundred different explanations for Rick's strange behaviour bouncing around in her head. She felt a prevailing sense of dread creeping into her thoughts, and tried to offset it by concentrating on the feel of her hand is his.

"Damnit, what is it, Rick? What the hell's happened?" she demanded to know the second they came to a halt at the top of the embankment.

The Sheriff drew a deep breath and brought his hands to her shoulders once again. He took a step towards her. "Shane's dead," he informed her gruffly.

Andrea gasped and her fingers flew to her lips. "Oh God," she breathed, her hand shaking. "Was it… did Randall do it? Walkers?"

Rick shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment before looking back at her. The woman in front of him suddenly looked so fragile, so vulnerable, the way she had as she'd run her fingers over a mermaid pendant so long ago. "I did it."

His words stunned her for a moment, and he felt her stiffen beneath his hands. "You?" she whispered in momentary disbelief. She looked down, and when she brought her eyes back to his, the grief and fury he saw within them made him feel as though he'd been struck. And then he was.

Her hand snaked out like lightning, and he heard the crack of her palm against his cheek before he felt the sting. "You son of a bitch," she hissed. Her lips trembled as she spoke. "For what? Because he wanted you to kill Randall? Because he was hot for your wife? Who _are_ you?" Her expression was one of horror as she stumbled back a few steps before slumping to the ground and burying her face in her hands.

"No, Andrea, you've got it all wrong," he insisted, moving to crouch next to her. He wanted so much to offer a comforting touch, but couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't bear to see her lurch away from him as Lori had. "I… I had no choice. He lead me away from the farm and tried to kill me."

Andrea sniffled. After what felt like hours she lifted her head. "What?" Her voice was barely audible as she swiped angrily at the tears staining her cheeks.

Grateful that she was at least giving him an opportunity to explain himself, he barrelled ahead. "Shane set Randall free. Then he followed him into the woods and snapped his neck. He staged it, Andrea. He staged the escape. And under the pretence of looking for Randall, he brought me to this big empty field, and…" Rick swallowed, recalling Shane's final moments. "And he drew on me. Told me straight up that he was going to kill me."

The Sheriff's words seemed to echo across the night, drifting in the cool air before fading into the surrounding trees. He studied Andrea closely, trying to gauge her thoughts, but she had closed her eyes, and her expression betrayed little. She shuddered into the dark void of the night and her shoulders slumped. "Goddamn you, Shane," she muttered, shaking her head.

Slowly, cautiously, Rick shifted from his crouched position to a seated one, edging closer to Andrea. "I'm so sorry, Andrea," he murmured, staring straight ahead. "He wanted to be with Lori. Lori and Carl and the baby. Told me I'd come into the group and torn it all down. Said I was a threat to everyone, that I'd get us all killed. He said… said killing me was the best thing for the group, that I couldn't protect us. He even had some bullshit story cooked up about my death to bring back to the camp. I just… I couldn't let him do it." He finally mustered up the courage to look over at her, and found her watching him. The wide, blue-green eyes that looked into his showed no traces of her initial judgement. Time slowed to a crawl as he waited for her to say something, anything.

When at last she spoke, her voice was a little unsteady. "I probably would have done the same."

Rick blew out a long breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

She sighed. "I guess it's like what we talked about yesterday: the morals of this new fucked-up world are based on survival."

"That's why I was so happy to see you."

Andrea cocked one eyebrow in confusion. "What is?"

Rick glanced away for a moment; she thought he seemed nervous. "That conversation we had." His gaze swung back to her. "I thought you had died before I could thank you for it."

She furrowed her brow, still unsure as to what he was getting at.

He shifted closer to her, picked up her hand and held it between both of his. He looked so earnest she yearned to lay her free hand against his cheek, but she held back, not trusting herself.

"When I was in that field with Shane… he believed in what he was saying so strongly that even I started to question my own worth. I wondered if maybe the group, maybe Lori and Carl… I wondered if maybe they would be better off with Shane." He leaned forward, his face so close to hers that their breath mingled. "And then I thought of you, Andrea. I thought about what you said. About survival, about morality. About the kind of man you think I am. And I… I decided to fight for the chance to be that man." He raised his hand, cradled her chin between his thumb and forefinger. "You saved my life, Andrea," he murmured. "Thank you."

And before she could reply, his lips descended over hers.


	3. Chapter 3

_Things start to get a little 'M' here, so be forewarned. Thanks again for all the great feedback!_

The press of Rick's lips against hers was so gentle, so hesitant, that for a split-second, Andrea thought that perhaps she was imagining the whole thing. The intimate gesture was so surreal that she momentarily froze in surprise.

The lack of response gave Rick pause, and he pulled back slightly, looking down into her face. Misreading her shock, he began to lean away, saying, "Shit, Andrea, I'm so sorry, I don't know what came o-"

His voice died in his throat as she grabbed his head with both hands and yanked him towards her, crushing her lips to his. He stifled a gasp as her lips devoured his, plunging his hands into her hair and revelling in the feel of her silky blonde locks sliding through his fingers,

His tongue prodded gently at her lips, and she eagerly opened her mouth, allowing him to taste and explore her as she in turn did with him. She grabbed the back of his head and twisted her fingers in his soft, dark hair. She felt a spreading warmth as she savoured his heady taste, and gripped him as though he were a raft in a monsoon.

His free hand circled around her, pressing against the small of her back to draw her to him. He could feel her breasts pressing against his chest, and resented the layers of clothing separating their bodies. His pulse pounded in his ears as he felt himself grow hard, and he slid his hand up beneath her shirt, nimble fingers caressing her on his path to the clasp of her bra. He deftly undid it, and he felt her gasp into his mouth. Untangling his fingers from her hair, he grabbed her with both hands around the waist and lifted her onto his lap; she instinctively straddled his outstretched legs, balancing on her knees on either side of him.

Her breath caught as his erection pressed through their clothes against the most intimate part of her, and she felt a deep, delicious ache growing between her legs. She had, admittedly, fantasized in the past about what it would be like to get physical with Rick, but her imagination paled in comparison to the reality that was currently causing fireworks to explode in her head. She drew in a sharp breath as she felt his calloused fingers move around to her front and slide beneath her loosened bra. His skilful hands sought out her breasts, immediately teasing her nipples to hardened points as he kneaded and caressed.

She threw her head back, and his name broke from her lips on a cry. The sound was nearly too much for Rick, and he brought his lips to the graceful column of her neck, kissing and tasting a moist path along it as she squirmed beneath his lips and hands. The passion with which she was responding to his touch had been absent from his life for so long that it was bringing him dangerously close to losing all control.

Desperate to feel his bare skin against her, Andrea pulled her fingers from his hair and began impatiently grabbing at the buttons on his shirt. When she finally managed to get it open, she placed her palms on his chest and slowly ran her hands across it, revelling in the feel of his soft, springy chest hair as it tickled her skin.

They clung to one another, their movements frenetic and ravenous, the need and desire swirling between them almost tangible. Rick tugged at the hem of Andrea's shirt, drawing it upwards until they had to lean back from one another so he could yank it over her head. As he did so, the momentary separation of their bodies allowed their eyes to lock, and they stared at one another in silence, each reading raw need in the other's eyes.

It was in this brief moment of stillness that the nearby snap of a twig brought them crashing back to reality. They simultaneously whipped their heads around towards the source of the sound, and discovered a walker shambling towards them from no move than ten feet away.

"Shit!" Andrea blurted as she sprung to her feet while struggling to pull her shirt back down. Rick was upon the groaning, rotting creature in a flash, grabbing the knife on his belt and swiftly plunging it into the walker's eye. It fell to the ground instantly.

Both he and Andrea rapidly surveyed the area around them, poised to attack in the event of a herd. "See any more?" Rick panted.

"Nope. Looks like he was alone."

Rick nodded, returning his knife to his side. When he looked back at Andrea, he found her with her hands behind her back, refastening her bra. Her dishevelled hair tumbled around her face in soft waves; her lips were swollen from the force of his kiss. He longed to yank her back into his arms and finish what they had started, but the logical part of his brain reminded him that his lust had distracted him so thoroughly that he had put not only he and Andrea, but also the entire group in danger, and he silently chastised himself for having allowed it to happen.

Still trying to figure out what the hell had just occurred between her with Rick, Andrea pulled her fingers through her hair carelessly, finding her elastic band tangled near the bottom of a few strands and yanking it out. She refrained from looking at Rick as she did a poor job of smoothing her hair down before gathering her hair once again into a rather severe ponytail. Her hands shook with adrenaline, her mouth felt dry.

Rick took a step towards her, clearing his throat. "Andrea," he began, but she quickly cut him off.

"Don't," she snapped, finally turning her eyes towards him. "That was a mistake. We… _I _should not have let that happen." His shirt was still open and she wished he would button it back up. The fine trail of hair that started at his navel and disappeared into his pants was distracting the hell out of her. She remembered a girlfriend of hers in law school referring to it as a "treasure trail." She moved to turn her back on him but was stopped when his hands shot out and grabbed her by her forearms.

"That is _not_ what I was going to say," he told her adamantly.

She shrugged off his grip and took a step backwards. "Well, it should have been," she announced, eyes flashing, delicately arched eyebrows drawn into a frown,

Rick tilted his head, examining her closely. _God, she's beautiful_ _angry_ he thought. _Has she always been this beautiful?_ Like any man with eyes, the fact that she was pretty had not escaped him when they had first met. In his desperation to fix his marriage, however, he had made every effort to put such thoughts aside following his reunion with Lori and Carl. Still, he had frequently found himself stealing glances here and there: there were times when she had returned from misadventures with laundry, her shirt wet and clinging, or times he'd caught the sultry gratification on her lips at the gun range. Here, though, in this moment, surrounded by seemingly endless wilderness, stars winking overhead, moonlight cascading through light, wispy clouds… he could not deny that he found the furious woman standing before him positively stunning.

He settled on his rejection by Lori and his urgent need to be wanted as the catalyst for his loss of control with Andrea. Lust and rejection and the feeling of being hopelessly lost had bubbled up within him and overtaken his senses. He told himself that this was all tonight had been, shoving away the voice in his head that persisted in telling him that there was something far deeper behind his actions tonight.

Andrea could practically see the gears turning in his head as he stood in front of her, briefly sympathizing with Lori's frequent complaint that her husband thought too much. Tired of waiting for a response, she demanded, "Well?"

Rick frowned, unsure of what she wanted to hear. "Well, what?"

Andrea threw her hands up in the air, exasperated. "Oh for God's sake," she muttered. She drew herself up to her full height, and looked him squarely in the eyes. "Look, let's just agree that tonight was a mistake, and we won't let it happen again, okay? This world," she gestured wildly around herself before continuing. "This insane world we live in is fucked-up enough without the two of us making an even bigger mess of things. I know we live in pretty close quarters, but how about we do our best to make sure you stay away from me, and I'll stay away from you." She punctuated her final point by jabbing her finger into his chest.

He looked down at her finger poking him before bringing his eyes back to her face. "Why?" he asked, his face unreadable.

In spite of all her irritation, the combination of Rick's bare chest, his proximity, his drawl, his scent, his breath, his unnaturally blue eyes… it was all combining into a potent elixir that was weakening both her knees and her resolve. She knew she needed to put distance between him and herself, and fast. "Because you're a good man," she bit out. "And a good man does _not_ cheat on his wife. His _pregnant_ wife." Her breath was coming in sharp rasps now, and she backed away slowly, trying not to feel terrible about his crestfallen expression.

Not waiting for a response, Andrea narrowed her eyes and prayed that Rick would not hear the quaver in her voice as she commanded, "Goddamnit Rick, just stay the hell away from me."

He stood for a long time atop the hill, watching her retreat into the night.


	4. Chapter 4

_My apologies for the delay; first, my _The Walking Dead: Compendium One_ showed up in the mail, and that pretty much took over the next two days of my life (good **God**, it's good - but Andrea's choice of romantic partner: REALLY? SO unsettling), then a friend from out of town came in, and I've been playing with him for the last few days. But there's two more chapters ready to go after this; all they need is a final read-through. Thanks once again for all the feedback - I'm sincerely very grateful!_

Morning came far too soon, as far as Andrea was concerned. After quietly letting the group members know that she was back last night, and answering an onslaught of sleepy questions, she had lain for what seemed like an eternity near the dying embers of the fire, blinking up at the stars and trying to stop replaying her encounter with Rick over and over in her head. The few hours of sleep she did manage to get were fitful, and she felt wholly depleted as she struggled into a seated position while the sun crested on the horizon. Her eyes felt scratchy and sandy, and even the hushed tones of the other group members in their various conversations were grating to her ears.

Kneading at a painful knot in her neck, she looked around and spotted Rick in quiet conversation was Daryl, just outside the crumbling rock walls of their camp site. She heard a slight rustle to her left, and turned to see Carol sit down next to her. Without speaking, the older woman offered Andrea one of two meagre breakfasts she held, and Andrea gratefully accepted the meal of mushrooms and wild berries served on a strip of bark. The two women sat and munched in silence for a time.

After popping her last berry into her mouth, Andrea gestured towards Rick and Daryl with a nod of her chin and asked, "What are they talking about?"

Carol sighed. "Glenn, Maggie, and T-Dog went scouting this morning, and couldn't find any gas. I think those two are trying to figure out what our next move is."

Andrea nodded absently, her eyes falling on a nearby canteen, which she grabbed for a quick swig of water. She spied Lori and Carl off to one side, and felt sharp pangs of guilt in her stomach.

Before she could dwell upon the feeling, the group members began to get to their feet, and she swivelled her head to see that Rick and Daryl were gesturing for everyone to join them. She stood, her stiff body aching in protest, and followed those around her towards the two men.

Once they were all assembled, Rick began to speak. "You all know the gas situation. Until we find more, we won't be able to go too far from here. Those cars are too valuable as a resource to leave behind, so we all need to pull together and find some kind of nearby shelter we can use as an HQ while we look for more fuel. Carol, Lori," he paused to look at the two women. "I need you two to see what kind of food you can find around here. Mushrooms, berries, you know what to look for. Beth and Carl will help you." All four of them nodded. "T-Dog, Hershel, you'll stay with them and keep them safe. We came from the east, so Glenn and Maggie, you'll head west. Daryl will head south, and pick up whatever meat he can along the way while he searches. Andrea and I will take the north."

Andrea groaned inwardly and glared at the Sheriff. She considered refusing the directive, but she knew the group would take notice, and she didn't feel like answering questions.

Ignoring Andrea's blatantly annoyed expression, Rick continued. "I want you all to notch trees as you go so you can find your way back. We'll meet back here this afternoon and see where we stand." Looking intently at the men and women surrounding him, Rick finished with a stern warning. "I want you all to stay sharp out there. No unnecessary risks. Use you guns as a last resort. This group doesn't need anymore losses."

Though the faces that looked back at Rick did not hold the same blind trust in their leader that they once had, they all nodded, accepting his plan for the time being as they dispersed to complete their assigned tasks.

Feeling that it was her only means of protest, Andrea took her time equipping herself, dawdling as she strapped a knife to her waist, and loaded her weapon from the nearly-depleted supply of ammunition. Rick remained infuriatingly patient, looking almost pleased at the delay.

When she eventually started making her way towards him, he nearly laughed at the exaggerated scowl she wore, but quickly thought better of it. She stormed right past him without stopping, muttering, "let's go" as she headed north towards the tree line. Rick made a cursory check of his Python and swiftly caught up with her.

She maintained a stony silence until they were ensconced within the trees, where she whipped around to face him and barked, "Damn it, what the hell, Rick?"

He rolled his eyes and lifted his hands in a sign of surrender. "This is purely logistical, Andrea," he offered. "We needed to cover three directions, and this was the best way to do it. If I split up Glenn and Maggie, they'll both be distracted by worrying about each other. Daryl's our hunter, and he can handle himself alone. That just leaves you and I for partners. So let's just work together, okay?"

She considered his explanation for a minute, then sighed. "Fine, we'll work together. Just keep your mind on the job."

Rick suppressed yet another smile and nodded.

The pair began their methodical search, picking through the dense brush in silence. The leaves had begun their autumn transformation, the trees painted by a permanent sunset. They plodded along without speaking for nearly an hour before Rick decided to say something. "Wanna talk about last night?"

"Nope. Wanna talk about your wife?"

"Nope."

"Good." Andrea spoke with a finality which implied that she considered the subject closed.

Rick ran one hand through his hair. "Come on, Andrea, there's no reason we can't just talk to each other."

Andrea shot him a suspicious look. "Alright," she returned cautiously. "What do you wanna talk about?"

The Sheriff offered her a slow, lazy grin in response, and she hated that it made her heart skip a few beats. "Well," he said, ducking under some low branches as he moved. "You used to be a lawyer, right? How about you tell me about that."

Despite herself, Andrea couldn't help smiling in return. "I loved it," she said. "I was a civil rights lawyer."

"Like the kind that helps people sue McDonald's when they spill hot coffee on their… business?"

Andrea laughed for the first time in days. "No," she answered. "Like the kind who goes after CEO's when they fire someone because they're gay, or defends bloggers when someone tries to censor their freedom of speech. That kind of thing."

"Sounds like you did some good."

"I did." Andrea's voice held unmistakable pride. She looked over at Rick and arched her eyebrow. "Even went after some overzealous cops."

He nodded. "Yeah, I've run into some of those types before. Every force has at least one."

The image of Shane beating the holy hell out of Carol's husband Ed a long, long time ago had her hoping he wasn't that 'one' on Rick's force. She scoured the horizon ahead of her, and when she spoke again, her tone was wistful. "God, I miss it." She shook her head. "I miss scouring law books and finding that one argument, that one precedent, that makes everything fall into place. I miss seeing the wobbly, fat jowls of rich old men when they realized that their bullshit was about to cost them. I miss… I miss the fight. Goddamn, I miss the fight."

Rick feigned surprise. "_You_ like fighting? No kidding."

Andrea threw him a sidelong glance. "Oh shut up," she tossed back with a smirk.

As they continued their search forward, an easy camaraderie sprung up between them while they talked about their former lives, the ebb and flow of conversation fluid and effortless.

They had just crested a small incline when a pair of quail exploded from a nearby bush, swiftly vanishing into the forest canopy above. Rick held up a hand to signify the need for silence as they both halted abruptly.

Andrea cast her eyes about the woods surrounding her, and spotted a pair of walkers stumbling through the trees towards she and Rick; fortunately, the beasts hadn't seen them yet. Spying the walkers at the same time she did, Rick pressed his back flat against a nearby tree and gestured for her to do the same. One hand hovered over his knife, while he pressed a finger to his lips with the other.

She swiftly nodded and mimicked Rick's move to cover against her own tree a few feet away. She kept her eyes trained on him, waiting for his prompt to attack as the inhuman groans grew louder

The reanimated corpses were almost on top of them when he finally gave the signal, and she and Rick leaped simultaneously out from behind the trees, knives at the ready. In a flash, the Sheriff jammed his knife up through one walker's nose, while Angela plunged hers into the forehead of the second creature, and in the blink of an eye bother walkers were on the ground, unmoving.

Breathing hard, they both scrutinized the area around them, and were relieved not to find any other geeks nearby.

Rick wiped his knife on his jeans and rasped, "You okay?"

"Yeah," Andrea managed, her heart racing. "You?"

"Yeah."

The pair took a moment to catch their breaths, watching the bodies in front of them for any sign of movement. When it became clear that the threat of the two walkers had been fully eliminated, Rick lifted his eyes and squinted into the distance.

Andrea followed his gaze. "See something?"

He nodded and held out his hand. "I think so. Give me the binoculars for a minute." Andrea pulled the requested item from where it hung around her neck and passed them to Rick. He held them to his eyes. "I think there's some kind of building up ahead," he explained.

He handed the binoculars back to Andrea, and when she looked through them she could just make out the lines of a structure through the trees. "I think you're right," she agreed.

Rick turned to her. "Let's head for it quietly," he instructed. "No telling what's up there."

"Right."

Slowly, cautiously, they moved through the woods, careful to maintain their cover as they went. As they drew nearer to the large, dark shape, Andrea could see a clearing, and within it was an old stone church, complete with a tall bell tower reaching towards the sky. They stopped and crouched; she again raised the binoculars. She counted about a dozen walkers milling listlessly about, and noted a second structure peeking from behind the main church. A hearse was parked ominously off to one side. She passed the binoculars to Rick, feeling a jolt of electricity when his fingers inadvertently brushed against hers.

He carefully surveyed the site, then lowered the binoculars and spoke to Andrea in hushed tones, "Looks like it might be a good place to lay low for a while. I think that's a rectory out back, and that means a place to sleep. Could be gas in the hearse too."

Andrea nodded. "Plus the bell tower would be a great place to keep watch, and those stone walls should help us defend the place if need be." She tilted her face towards Rick. "How do you want to play this?"

He thought a moment, rubbing his stubbled jaw. "Let's head back to camp. We can bring Daryl and Glenn up here, maybe T-Dog, and clean the place out. We'll bring the rest out when we're done."

Happy with his answer, Andrea bobbed her head in agreement, and together they slunk back into the foliage.


	5. Chapter 5

Daryl was the last to rejoin the group back at the camp site, and though he brought with him a few squirrel carcasses slung around his waist, he, like Glenn and Maggie, had found nothing of much interest to report. "Came across an old barn," he told the group as he sat down to join their circle around the fire. "But the thing's falling apart. Probably won't hold up much longer."

Rick nodded. "Then I guess we'll go with the church Andrea and I found." He briefly explained the discovery to Daryl, having already done so with the others.

"We've got a problem though,"" T-Dog pointed out. "You say there's about a dozen walkers, and we've got almost no ammo."

Rick rubbed his chin contemplatively. "We do have knives. There's gotta be some way to pick 'em off one or two at a time, without drawing the attention of the whole group."

Glenn's expression brightened markedly. "We whistle."

Nine pairs of eyes turned to stare at Glenn. "Whistle?" Rick asked.

Glenn nodded and grabbed a twig off the ground, then handed it to Andrea. "Draw the site for me," he instructed.

Furrowing her brow in concentration, she began sketching in the dirt with the branch, outlining the church and rectory to the best of her recollection, finishing with a large circle around it to represent the tree line. She leaned back and surveyed her work. "I think that's it," she said, chewing on her lower lip. She looked at Rick. "This look right to you?"

Rick stood from his seat on the other side of the circle, and moved behind her, then put his hand on her upper back and leaned over her shoulder. He tried hard to focus on the crude drawing, instead of on Andrea's scent, and the heat of her body beneath his palm. He knew he could have studied the drawing without the physical contact, but he found that he simply could not help himself. "Hmm," he mused. He reached for the stick and covered her hand with his before she could jerk it away. Guiding her hand, he sketched the position of the hearse, and added a few stumps and boulders he remembered seeing around the border of the clearing. The action felt frustratingly intimate to Andrea, and she prayed that Lori wouldn't pick up on it. She shivered at his warm breath on the back of her neck as he said, "There, that's it."

Glenn considered the image carefully for some moments. Then he smiled and said, "Yep, this should work fine." The group waited for a minute as he scooped up a collection of pebbles and wood chips and began to place them at various positions around the circle. "Okay", he began. "This here is Darryl, this is Andrea, this is Rick, this is T-Dog, and this is me," he instructed as he pointed to each marker in turn. "The idea is to hide in the brush and when a walker gets close, you whistle just loudly enough for him to hear, but not so loudly that the more distant walkers can hear it. When one or two start moving towards you, you'll need to quietly back further into the brush, and when they're close enough again, you'll whistle again. This'll bring them further into the brush. You find a tree or a rock to hide behind, because if they spot you, they'll make noise to alert the other walkers. Wait for 'em to get good and close, then jump 'em. Make sure you drag the bodies somewhere to hide them so the next walkers you lure in don't catch on. Then you head back to where you started, and we keep doing it until we've made them all our bitches." The Korean man stopped and looked at the people around him. "Any questions?"

Maggie grinned and slipped an arm around Glenn's shoulders. "I told you you're a smart guy," she said, her face beaming with pride.

He smiled and kissed her on the cheek as he gave her free hand a squeeze. "The key is patience," he said, turning back to address the group at large. "This'll be a test of stealth, not of speed. Hershel's great with a gun, so he can stay here to protect the rest of you."

After some consideration, Rick nodded, and the rest of the group followed suit.

Daryl eyed Glenn with a shrewd gaze. "How'd you learn to do this, kid?"

"Splinter Cell." Glenn was clearly pleased about his contribution.

Daryl frowned and looked over at Rick, who in turn shrugged his shoulders. "What the hell is a 'Splinter Cell'?" Rick asked.

Carl rolled his eyes dramatically. "It's a video game," he explained, sounding exasperated. "God, Dad, you are so _old_."

The Sheriff chuckled and ruffled his son's hair. "Don't I know it, son." His gleeful expression was short-lived however; he asked Daryl to clean and roast the squirrels, then looked determinedly into the faces of those around him. "We'll eat first, and after that, we roll out."


	6. Chapter 6

It was late in the afternoon when five on-edge, tightly-wound bodies found themselves marching through the woods, preparing for battle. Rick and Andrea had the lead, while Glenn, Daryl, and T-Dog followed at a short distance behind.

Out of ear-shot of the three men behind him, Rick turned his head without slowing his pace and scrutinized Andrea. Shafts of sunlight falling through the tree canopy flashed and disappeared across her hair, illuminating sections of her blonde waves that he longed to feel between his fingers again. Her face was stoic, her lush, pouty lips set in a firm, determined line. Rick couldn't help the images that flashed into his head of the previous night, couldn't help thinking about the feel of those lips beneath his, the taste of her still lingering on his tongue. He found his preoccupation with her today unsettling. She was under his skin in a way that Lori never had been, even way back at the outset of their relationship. All he wanted to do was focus on the fight he was leading the group into, but his brain insisted on reminding him of all the things about Andrea that bewitched him. He felt like an infatuated teenager, and found it endlessly grating.

"What, do I have something on my face?"

Her words cut sharply into his reverie, and he realized she'd caught him staring, just as he'd caught her staring at him on the night of Dale's death. He frowned and got defensive. "No. I was just wondering if you're ready for this."

She snorted. "You're damn right I'm ready for this," came her quick reply. She lifted an eyebrow. "Are _you_ ready for this?"

He smiled. "Sweetheart, I am _always_ ready." The moment the words left his mouth, he cursed inwardly at the unintended innuendo implied by his tone. He cleared his throat and tried to stifle the embarrassed flush creeping up his cheeks. "Just… you just be careful out there," he told her finally.

A peculiar expression on her face, she nodded. "Yeah… you be careful too."

Too soon they were approaching the clearing. Andrea and Rick stayed their movements and waited for the three men behind them to catch up.

When all five parties were assembled, Rick looked into the faces of those around him. "We all know what to do. I want each of us to maintain sightlines with at least one other person at all times; if you see someone in trouble, get over there and help." He took a deep breath. "Alright, good luck."

With one final look at each other, the group spread out, moving to their assigned locations. Andrea settled behind a high tree stump, Rick some twenty feet to her left. She peered from her hiding spot.

Daryl was the first to try the technique, and she watched closely as a walker on the other side of the clearing lifted its head in reaction to a sound. It began to shuffle towards Daryl's position, its movements ignored by the rest of its ghoulish brethren. Andrea held her breath as the thing disappeared into the brush. Her heart beat fast as she trained her eyes on the sliver of woodland it had entered, straining to see any signs of activity. After several tense moments, she caught a glimpse of Daryl's blonde hair, and exhaled deeply when she saw the redneck crouching once again in his original position. "So far, so good," she muttered quietly to herself.

Waiting patiently for a walker to come close enough to her hiding place, she observed both Glenn and T-Dog draw walkers of their own into the woods, before returning safely to their positions to wait for more. Glenn's plan appeared to be working perfectly.

A walker finally came close enough for her to try whistling at it. She licked her lips and blew. As expected, one revolting creature cocked its head and began heading her way. Unfortunately, her whistle also attracted the attention of a second walker, and the pair of them began shambling towards her. "Shit," she cursed quietly, then reminded herself not to panic. She concentrated on taking long, steady breaths as she backed up, moving slowly, deliberately, her eyes trained on her targets.

When she was fully concealed by forest growth, she fitted her back to an optimal tree, then peered out from behind it. The pair of walkers were trudging along side by side now. If there had only been some distance between them, the task of disabling them would have been made considerably easier, but bunched up as they were, she would need to stab both almost simultaneously to avoid being bitten. Her knife at the ready, she waited, ticking off seconds in her head, listening intently to gauge the walkers' distance by their footfalls.

The two beasts were almost directly in front of the tree when she leaped out. Her first strike was sharp and true, the knife sinking to the hilt as it pierced the walker's eye and continued on to its brain. She drew the knife back with a snap of her elbow, the second walker's advance immediately frozen as it took a few seconds to realize what was happening. As the knife exited the first walker, however, the blade caught on some part of its skull for the briefest of moments, and the ensuing momentum caused that walker's rotting force to tumble forwards. The thing landed squarely on Andrea, knocking her onto her back, where she was pinned by the beast's corpse as it collapsed on top of her.

Gnashing its teeth viciously, the second walker lunged for her trapped body, falling into a crouch next to her and opening its jaws wide as its nightmarish head lowered and prepared to tear into her neck.

Unable to move, to bring her knife up to jab the awful thing descending upon her, she squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the inevitable.

And then suddenly the collapsed walker was yanked upwards, and her lungs expanded to take in huge gulps of air. She blinked and opened her eyes.

A pair of vivid blue eyes stared back at her. "Oh, Jesus, Jesus," Rick muttered, dropping the knife he had plunged into the walker before he had hurled it from her body. Kneeling next to her, his fingers slipped into the top of her shirt, running along her collar bones, her neck, searching for any broken skin. "Did he bite you? Are you bit?" He was frantic.

Her terror beginning to ebb, Andrea tried to smile in an effort to reassure him. "I'm fine, I'm fine," she gasped, sitting up. "No bites, Rick. I'm fine."

His face was creased with worry, and he seemed unconvinced.

"I'm _fine_," she insisted. She looked down at his hands which now gripped her shoulders under her shirt and smirked. "How about you try helping me up, instead of trying to feel me up?"

Her strategy of levity seemed to finally do the trick, and his facial muscles relaxed. Getting to his feet, he offered her a hand, which she gratefully took. Her shock still fading, she swayed slightly when she stood, and Rick immediately slipped an arm around her waist to hold her steady. Even with her mind still reeling, she was all too aware of his presence, and took a step backwards. She brushed at leaves and twigs clinging to her clothing, then shifted her gaze to him once again. "Honest, I'm _fine_."

Rick studied her face closely. "You still up for this?"

"Fuck, yeah."

Her immediate, biting response coaxed a grin from Rick. "Good. I'll just, uh… get back to it then, I guess?" He was clearly still a little leery about leaving her.

Knowing the group needed him back fulfilling his role, she nodded firmly. "Yep."

He nodded in return, and moved to head back to his position.

"Rick, I…"

He paused, looked back at her, his head cocked slightly.

Andrea cleared her throat. "… Thank you," she finally managed.

Rick's smile was warm and sincere. "Any time," he tossed back before slipping once again into the trees.


	7. Chapter 7

It took Andrea a few moments to shake off her near-death experience, but once she had, she returned to her post on the edge of the clearing, and it wasn't long before the team had cleared the church grounds of walkers. When the last of the shuffling corpses lay motionless in the forest dirt, all five members of the impromptu strike team gathered in the clearing. A sweep of both the church and the rectory interiors turned up three feeble walkers who were easily dispatched of.

Daryl and Glenn took the trip back to gather the others, and as the sunset streaked the sky pink, the group reunited once again at their new dwelling. There was clear relief etched on each group member's face, knowing that they would sleep tonight surrounded by sturdy walls.

Exhaustion set in quickly, and the group made the unanimous decision to pack their gear into the church's main hall for the night, deciding that tomorrow would be early enough to explore the rectory and examine the hearse. Hershel's station wagon, the blue pickup truck, and the little green car would stay up near the highway for the evening; Hershel had possessed the foresight to park all three vehicles a short distance from the road, concealing them in a wooded area as best he could.

Regardless of the fact that the main hall provided ample space to spread out, the notion of sleeping in the same room as Rick was enough to make Andrea antsy, and she volunteered to take the first watch in the huge stone bell tower.

The door to the tower was off to one side of the main hall. As the rest of the group began laying out blankets and pillows and choosing their sleeping spots for the night, she gathered up a rifle and what little ammo was left. She was standing near the door to the tower loading the gun when T-Dog approached her.

"I'm gonna catch a couple hours of sleep, and then I'll be up to relieve you," T-Dog reassured her.

"Get as much shut-eye as you need," she told him with a smile. "I'm too wound up to sleep any time soon."

"Alright, I'll see you in a little while," T-Dog said gratefully before leaving to stake out a place to sleep.

The stairs to the tower were thick with dust as Andrea made her way up the steep, spiralling incline. When she finally reached the top, she was pleased to find that the narrow tower windows provided her with excellent sightlines in all directions. A gigantic, slightly rusted bell hung from a beam near the top of the tower; a long, ratty rope for ringing it reached to the floor. She positioned herself in front of the central window, and settled in for a long evening, welcoming the solitude.

Nearly two uneventful hours later, the silence of the night was punctured by the sound of two angry voices below. Andrea immediately recognized the speakers as Rick and Lori. Unable to quell her curiosity, she moved to a side window and saw Lori storm out of the church, her husband in close pursuit. Their voices were loud, and carried clearly in the still of the evening.

"What the hell was I supposed to do, Lori?" she heard Rick demand on the edge of a shout. "Would you have preferred it if Shane had come back instead of me?"

Lori spun to face her husband. "You said you _wanted_ to, Rick! You killed a good man because you _wanted_ to."

"I just wanted it to be over, Lori! Shane _was_ a good man, but you know goddamned well that neither of us has seen that good man in a long time. He killed Otis for Christ's sake!"

"To save our _son_, Rick! Your son!"

"He tried to kill _me_, Lori! You wanna defend the man who planned the murder of your husband?" Rick was pacing around in agitation; he raked his fingers through his hair. "This was not some 'moment of passion' thing: he formulated a plan ahead of time, and he carried it out! You know what that's called, Lori? That's called premeditated murder! _First-degree murder_. Do you not get that? What choice did I have?"

Lori refused to back down. "There is _always_ a choice, Rick! There had to have been another way!" Even from the tower, Andrea could see the look of disgust on Lori's face. Rick's wife narrowed her eyes as she glared at him. "You know what I think? I think you killed him because you were jealous. I think it was revenge, pure and simple, for he and I sleeping together."

Andrea sucked in a breath at the anger that clouded Rick's face. "Are you out of your _mind_, Lori? You think I killed my best friend because he slept with my wife when she thought she was a widow? Is that the kind of man you think I am? A cold-blooded murderer?" He stepped in front of her and grabbed her shoulders roughly. "Is that what you think?"

Lori whirled away from his grasp as though she was burned by his touch. "I think it's a distinct possibility," she growled.

Rick flinched as though he'd been punched. When he spoke again, Andrea could hardly bear the hurt she heard in his voice. "Lori, you're my wife. We love each other. How can you say that?" Had it not been so dark, Andrea would have seen tears forming in his eyes.

Lori appeared unmoved. "I think maybe you should give Carl and I a little space for a while," she said woodenly.

"What?" Rick swiped at his tears with frustration. "Goddamn it, that is my _son_. You can't keep me away from him. Don't do this to me, to us, to our family."

His plea was answered with silence. After a long moment, she said, "I'm going to go back inside now. When you come in, please don't sleep next to Carl and I."

Rick looked horrified, helpless. "This isn't right, Lori. You goddamned well know that this isn't right." As she walked past him on her way to the church door, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. "Tell me what to do, please. How do I make this right?"

She wrenched her arm from his grasp and glared at him with a ferocity and coldness that made his heart ache.

Andrea could feel nothing but deep sadness as Lori disappeared into the church, leaving Rick alone in the night. As soon as the door shut behind his wife he doubled over, hung his head in his hands. She saw his body begin to shake violently with sobs, and couldn't stand to watch any more; she returned to her position at the central window and resumed staring into the darkness. The cool night air blew across her face, and she realized her cheeks were damp with tears; she wiped at them furiously with the sleeve of her shirt.


	8. Chapter 8

Andrea was only mildly surprised to hear footsteps coming up the stairs shortly after witnessing Rick and Lori's fallout. Team player that he was, she had assumed that T-Dog would ignore her insistence that he get as much sleep as he needed. Still too preoccupied to sleep, she was debating whether or not to send him back to the church when her visitor stepped from the shadowy staircase. Her eyebrows shot up and she blinked several times when she saw that it wasn't T-Dog who moved into view, but Rick. "What are you doing here?" she blurted.

Rick smirked. "Nice to see you too," he replied wryly.

"Sorry," she said, a smile tugging at her lips. "It's just that I was expecting T-Dog. Figured he was coming to relieve me."

"You want me to take over? I won't be able to sleep for a while anyway," Rick offered.

"Yeah, I'll bet," Andrea remarked without thinking. Instantly realizing her admission that she had been eavesdropping on his fight with Lori, she was quick to add, "I… sorry, but it was pretty impossible not to hear you two out there."

"I know." Rick sighed. "So, how about it? Want me to take over?"

Andrea shook her head. "Nope, I'm good for another couple hours."

Rick nodded. Silence stretched between them as he moved to stand next to her at the window. They both squinted into the infinite darkness for several minutes without speaking.

When it was clear that Rick was not about to volunteer any further information, she told herself that the man next to her could probably use a sounding board, and cautiously asked, "Wanna talk about it?"

His grin was self-depreciating. "Déja-vu."

"What?"

"I believe you asked me that same question a few nights ago, didn't you?" He turned to face her. "I'm sure you don't need me dumping all my problems on you again."

Andrea rolled her eyes. _Men_, she thought. "And I'm sure it's probably better for you to get your problems off your chest," she countered, her voice very matter-of-fact.

Rick cast a sidelong glance out the window and rubbed the back of his neck. He looked exhausted. "It's just…" He blew out a long breath. "You know how the President has a whole cabinet full of people he can consult with when he needs to make a decision? Well, I don't have that. I wound up as the leader of this group, and now I'm supposed to make all the big decisions, by myself, and then I get to sit back and watch the group judge the hell out of me." He brought his eyes back to Andrea's. "You can't imagine how much pressure that is. All I think about, day in, day out, is what's right for the group, and whether or not I've made the right decisions, and what the right decisions should be going forward. There's not a single second of a single day where the self-doubt in my head isn't hounding me." He bent forward slightly and gripped the sill of the window. "I used to be so sure that I did the right things, that I made the world a better, safer place when I did my job. I can't even remember what that feels like anymore."

Instinctively wanting to comfort him, Andrea reached out to cover one of his hands with her own. Her hand looked small and fragile on top of his.

He turned his head and gazed at her, his expression unreadable. "At the end of the day, I want just one person, just _one_ person, to tell me I'm doing the right thing. And I had hoped that my wife – my fucking _wife_ – would be that person. But she's not. Instead, she's just as judgmental as everyone else. Maybe even more so. She…" His words trailed off, his shoulders sagged. Quiet seconds ticked by. Finally, he sighed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't lay all this on you. I think the lack of sleep is just getting to me, and-"

Before he could finish his sentence, Andrea stepped forwards and threw her arms around him, engulfing him in a warm hug. "I'm sorry, Rick," she murmured. "I had no idea… I guess we just take you for granted."

After a brief moment of surprise, he wrapped his arms around her too, holding her flush against him as she lay her head on his chest. For what felt to both of them like a very long time they held one another, drawing comfort from each other, allowing the physical contact and connection they felt with each other to fill holes they both carried within themselves. Their breathing synchronized, and Andrea could hear his heart beating steadily beneath her ear.

With the chirping of crickets and the wind rustling the leaves all around them, Andrea finally leaned back and looked up at him; his arms remained around her, his fingers linked together at the small of her back. In her head she knew that she needed to put space between them, but she saw such emotional need in his eyes that she felt compelled to at least make an effort to ease his mind. "Rick," she began, her voice rich with compassion. "You need to realize that the only reason the people around us are still alive is because of _you_. When you go to bed at night, you need to think about that. We would all be dead if _you_ weren't the one calling the shots around here. Your job is a shitty, thankless one most days, I know, but we are all alive thanks to you. We don't owe our lives to Shane, or Lori. We owe them to _you_. And I'll tell you something else…"

Rick began to smile, recognizing the lawyer in her emerging.

"The fact that you make all these decisions without a cabinet of advisors makes you a lot more impressive than some measly President of a country. So the next time Lori gets on your case, you can tell her I said to cram it." Andrea's lips curved into a mischievous grin.

Just imagining the look on Lori's face if he said such a thing to her made him chuckle softly. He moved one hand from her back, and brought it around to gently smooth Andrea's hair back from her face. "You," he said softly, "are amazing."

She could pinpoint the exact moment when the look in his eyes grew heated, watched breathlessly as he began to lower his head towards hers. Just as his lips brushed against hers she leapt backwards. He cocked one questioning eyebrow.

"Damn it, Rick, we can't do this." Her body language made it clear to him that she was fighting temptation with everything she had.

Emboldened by the sight, he took a step forward. "That's not how I remember it," he drawled.

She retreated once again and felt the wall of the tower against her back. Breathing heavily, she spoke again. "You know what I mean. We _shouldn't_ do this. You're married. I am not your second choice when your wife turns you down."

Again he stepped forward, this time bracing an arm against the wall on either side of her, penning her in. He brought his face close to hers, desire plainly evident in his expression. "Is that what you think this is?" His voice was husky, heated.

Andrea could feel his breath against her lips. Her eyes darted around him as she tried to look everywhere but at his face. "Yes."

His smile immediately turned her legs to jelly. "Isn't it possible that you're a beautiful woman who I can't stop thinking about?" He shifted forward, held his body against hers. "Isn't it possible that I want you so goddamned bad that I can hardly stand it?"

She couldn't breathe. He was everywhere, filling all of her senses, destroying her will power. Raw sexual need was written all over his face and it was overwhelming. And then before she could offer any response to his question, his lips came crashing down on hers and the rest of the world disappeared. His kiss was ravenous, explosive, with none of the caution of their previous kiss. She gave into her own want almost immediately, wrapping her arms around his neck, plunging her fingers into his thick, soft hair. His tongue dove in and out of her mouth, insatiable, demanding, and she countered with her own tongue, savouring his taste.

His hands moved to the small of her back and pulled her flush against him; she could feel the hard evidence of his desire pushing through his jeans against her body. He returned one hand to her hair and yanked none too gently, tilting her head backwards to give himself impossibly deeper access to her mouth. His stubble rasped against her skin as he nibbled on her lower lip. An urgency began to build within Andrea, and she became aware of a tingling, throbbing feeling at the apex of her thighs.

She drew in ragged breaths as Rick's lips slipped from hers and moved to her ear, where he nipped and sucked at her ear lobe. Her tiny gasps of desire spurred him forward, and he moved to her neck, kissing it with such intensity that he left tiny marks on her flesh, branding her with his desire in several places.

Beyond the point of stopping, she tore at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against hers. He swiftly shrugged out of the garment and let it drop to the ground. She ran her fingers across his chest, tracing the outlines of muscles, caressing the warm, smooth planes of his upper body. Her fingers eventually made their way to his back, and her nails dug into his skin as she clung to him.

Drawing back, panting, he tugged violently at her shirt, drawing it up and over her head before tossing it on the floor. He brought his mouth back to hers for another searing kiss, then began making his way down her neck again as she gulped in air. He ran his tongue along her collar bone, marvelling at the sweet taste of her skin. Without taking his lips from her, he grabbed her around the waist with both hands and lifted her up, pushing her against the stone wall. She automatically wrapped her legs around his hips as he positioned his body to hold up her weight.

She yanked her hair out of its ponytail and rolled her head backwards, arching into his touch. Rick paused in his actions for a moment and looked up at her. Her blonde hair tumbled around her face in glorious waves, her cheeks were flushed with desire. "God, you are gorgeous Andrea," he said raggedly.

Though she heard his words, she found herself struggling to come up with any sort of reply, managing only to whimper, "Rick…"

The knowledge of what he was doing to her was nearly overwhelming, and he actually growled before returning his mouth to her chest. He traced a trail to the valley between her breasts with his tongue, and she swiftly unclasped her bra, aching to feel more.

Once the bra had joined the two shirts on the tower floor, Rick sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of her bare breasts heaving in front of him. He quickly drew one breast into his mouth, lapping at the nipple, tugging at it with his teeth and lips before repeating the actions on her other breast.

Fingers twisting in his hair, clutching him to her, Andrea's moan was primal, guttural, and she could feel a tension demanding release building within her. "Oh God, oh God, _Rick,_" she rasped, her fingers seeking out and then fumbling with his belt.

He responded in kind, one hand reaching for the top of her jeans. He deftly undid the button of her pants and slid his fingers down. Even through her underwear he could feel the slick moisture of her readiness for him. He groaned and began to rub her through the thin cotton and she squirmed and bucked against his hand. "Oh my God, oh my God," she murmured over and over again. Rick watched her face closely. Her eyes were closed and her expression was one of pure ecstasy. He wanted to possess her, to bring her to the edge and see her tumble over it with him; he was sure she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Whoa, shit."

The sound of a third voice made Rick and Andrea freeze immediately.

Andrea squeezed her eyes shut with dismay, recognizing the voice, her hands instantly flying up to cover herself.

Rick's head snapped around violently, and he felt his heart stop at the sight of T-Dog, who stood with his back to them, looking at the floor.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry," blurted the man, clearly mortified. "I didn't know, I'm so sorry, I was just coming to relieve Andrea, and…" His words tumbled out in rapid-fire succession, and he remained facing away from them. "Aw, fuck."

Some small part of Rick wanted to tell their visitor to get lost, to leave them alone so that he and Andrea could finish finding their bliss together. Common sense and decency prevailed however, and he gently lowered Andrea to the ground. The moment was lost. He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. "It's okay, T-Dog," he muttered, refastening his belt. He stooped down to grab he and Andrea's clothes from the floor, handing her bra and shirt to her before reluctantly slipping back into his own shirt.

Andrea's face revealed nothing as she too dressed as quickly as she could. When they were both fully clothed, Rick turned to face T-Dog and sighed before saying, "Alright, we're decent now."

T-Dog pivoted slowly towards them, his face still red with embarrassment. "I, uh…" he began, but he couldn't manage anything further.

Shoulders slumped, Rick pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, closing his eyes. Try as he might, he couldn't come up with anything to say to either Andrea or the black man in front of him. At long last he opened his eyes. "I guess I'll be heading downstairs now," he offered feebly. He glanced back at Andrea. "Good night," he said, a telling tremor in his voice.

Andrea nodded wordlessly, then turned to stare out the window. She did not look back as he left.


	9. Chapter 9

"Dad? Dad!"

Rick was jolted awake by the sound of his son's insistent voice. He rubbed groggily at his eyes and struggled to sit up. It was only the first few seconds of a new day, and already his head ached and he felt like crap; he had gotten precious little sleep, and the sleep he had gotten had been restless at best. "Carl, is everything okay?" He blinked, his eyes bleary as he looked at his boy.

"Yeah. Why the heck did you sleep all the way over here?"

He felt a small hint of gratitude that Lori had at least tried to keep her fury with her husband from Carl. Rick had chosen a sleeping spot on the opposite side of the church from his wife and son; he briefly considered telling Carl the truth, but quickly decided the kid didn't need anything else to carry on his shoulders. "Your mom says I've been snoring a lot lately, so I thought I'd let her get a good night's sleep by making my bed over here."

Carl frowned, not sure he was convinced by his father's explanation. "I've never heard you snore before."

Rick managed a little smile and ruffled his son's dark hair. "That's because you're a heavy sleeper, buddy. You could sleep through a hurricane, even when you were a baby."

The boy's features relaxed, deciding this was logical enough. "Me and Carol and Mom are gonna go check out the priest house," he said, sounding eager. "Wanna come?"

Rick yawned and stretched, his blanket falling to his waist, revealing his bare torso. "I've got to go see how T-Dog's doing in the tower, kiddo." Seeing Carl's disappointment, he hastened to add, "I'll definitely come check the place out when I'm done, okay?"

"'Kay," Carl nodded, satisfied with the compromise.

Rick turned to look for the jeans he'd left next to his sleeping spot last night.

"Whoa, Dad, what happened to your back? It's all scratched up!"

Swivelling back to face his son, Rick tried hard to keep the heat from rising in his cheeks, knowing that what Carl was seeing were the marks of Andrea's passion from the night before. He silently gave thanks that his son did not yet have the wherewithal to identify what he was looking at. "I… I must have gotten scratched by some trees when I was going through the woods. Nothing to worry about, okay?"

Carl narrowed his eyes, and for a moment Rick was sure the boy was about to call bullshit. To his great relief though, his son finally nodded and said, "'Kay, Dad. See you in a bit".

The sheriff breathed a sigh of relief and watched as Carl scampered back to his mother; her expression was rigid, unaffected as she observed father and son. Rick looked around the hall for Andrea, but didn't see her anywhere. He dressed quickly and set out for the tower, not looking forward to the awkwardness he was sure he'd be facing in his coming interaction with T-Dog.

Sun was streaming through the windows when he stepped into the bell tower, the light spraying in all directions as it reflected off of the bell, casting distinct geometric shapes on the well-worn floor. He found T-Dog gazing out the central window and cleared his throat to alert the man to his presence.

T-Dog turned and greeted Rick, looking remarkably uncomfortable. "All quiet out there," he said, then turned to resume staring out the window.

"Need a break?" asked Rick, trying to sound casual.

Still facing away from him, T-Dog replied, "Yeah, that'd be great man; I'm getting a little stiff here." He finally turned back to Rick and handed him the rifle. "Can you give me maybe an hour or so?"

Rick nodded, then coughed nervously. "Uh, listen, T-Dog, about last night…"

"Ain't none of my business," T-Dog interrupted quickly. "Never woulda pegged you for a cheater, but I guess this world changes people."

Despite the man's words, Rick was sure he could hear judgement in T-Dog's voice. "I'm not, really, but this thing, it just…" He cast about for an answer that would justify his behaviour, but couldn't think of anything that didn't sound like a pitiful excuse. He blew out a long breath. "Fuck, things are just a mess, I guess."

T-Dog eyed him closely. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Rick looked at the ground and rubbed the back of his neck. "Lori asked me to leave her and Carl alone."

The other man's eyebrows lifted. "So you went after Andrea to get back at your wife?" His expression was decidedly unimpressed.

"Oh, hell no," Rick responded emphatically. "Honestly, that is not it. I'm not that much of an asshole."

T-Dog smiled faintly. "Been going on for a while?"

He sighed. "It hasn't really gone on at all," Rick admitted. "Last night, that was essentially the first time we… oh hell, I don't know what we were doing."

"Really? Because I could probably fill you in."

The corners of Rick's mouth turned up slightly. "That's not what I meant. I mean… there's this thing between us, and I don't think either of us knows the right way to deal with it. Andrea just… she makes me feel…"

T-Dog could see him struggling to come up with the right words, any words, to express himself, and felt a small twang of sympathy for the man. "You don't owe me an explanation, Rick," he assured the Sheriff, who offered a grateful smile in return.

An uncertain silence settled over them. T-Dog could see that Rick was trying to decide how to broach the obvious topic of keeping what he'd walked in on to himself and opted to beat the man to the punch. "I won't say anything to anyone."

Rick looked almost comically relieved. "Thanks, T-Dog," he said earnestly. Unable to help himself, he then asked, "Did she, um… did she say anything to you about… you know, me?" He felt vaguely ridiculous, like a kid asking T-Dog to pass a note to Andrea in study hall.

"Not really," T-Dog answered. "To be honest, we could hardly look at each other. You walk in on something like that, you're not really up for a whole lot of chit-chat. She left pretty quickly after you did."

"Fair enough." Rick lifted the rifle and moved to the window. He spotted Daryl's motorcycle parked near the hearse and decided the man must have recovered it sometime around sunrise. "You seen her this morning?" He knew there was no need to clarify which 'she' he was referring to."

Eager to take his break, T-Dog was already moving towards the tower stairs. "I think she went hunting with Daryl. Something about wanting to learn how to do it herself," he tossed back over his shoulder on his way out.

"Sounds like something she'd do," Rick answered with a smirk. He turned back to look out over the ground below. If nothing else, her temporary absence would at least give him time to think about what he was going to say to her when he saw her, because at the present moment, he had absolutely no idea.


	10. Chapter 10

When Hershel showed up in the tower an hour later to take guard duty, Andrea still hadn't returned. Rick welcomed the distraction of exploring the rectory, having failed to come up with anything reasonable to say to her upon her return.

Carl was eager to show his father the decent stash of canned goods discovered in the rectory's small pantry, and showed him the four bedrooms offered by the building. The linens had all been stripped from the beds, but the mattresses would be viable enough once all the dust and cobwebs had been cleaned off. The boy seemed particularly pleased with the room he'd chosen for himself and his parents. "See, Dad? I bet if we all snuggled in, you and me and mom could all fit in this bed."

Rick tried desperately to hide the sadness evoked by his son's enthusiasm. All the poor kid wanted was to find solace in his family, and his parents were preventing that from happening. Smoothing the boy's hair from his face, the Sheriff offered only a "Maybe so," in response. Carl looked crushed by his father's lack of excitement over the proposition, looked as though he might make another attempt at convincing him, and Rick was thoroughly dismayed when he saw his son swallow his words and mumble only, "Okay, Dad." He was too young to have so many worries pent up inside him, and Rick instinctively crouched and gathered Carl into a bear hug.

The child lasted only a few moments before he squeaked, "Oof, too tight, Dad!"

Rick was reminded not for the first time of how young his son still was, and chuckled softly as he released him. "Sorry, bud," he said as he straightened, squeezing Carl's shoulder. "Sometimes I forget you're a little smaller than me."

He was rewarded with a crooked smile, and Rick grinned warmly in return. He basked in his son's fleeting display of happiness for a few seconds, then suggested, "Why don't you go see what mom's up to, son? I think some of us will probably have to go pick up the cars from where we left them."

Carl's head bobbed in agreement, and he turned to run down the stairs, hollering, "Mom? Moooo-ooom!"

As Rick left the rectory with a plan to find Glenn to see about siphoning gas from the hearse, movement at the edge of the brush some yards away caught his eye. He lifted one hand to his forehead to block the sun, while the other moved automatically to hover over the Python strapped to his hip. Squinting, he could just make out the shapes of two figures emerging from the trees: he saw curves he had by this point memorized in one of the figures, and knew he was looking at the returning forms of Andrea and Daryl. As they drew nearer, he saw that Andrea was wearing a ragged knit scarf that he recognized as Carol's; clearly, he wasn't the only one whose body bore marks from the night before. An image of how she had looked as he'd put those marks on her neck flashed before his eyes, and he felt a warmth in his loins that he struggled to will away.

"Looks like squirrel for lunch again," Daryl hollered as he got closer. Andrea was looking around the church grounds, avoiding eye contact with Rick.

When the pair was close enough to hear him, Rick said, "Lori and Carol are in the rectory if you want to go ask them to prepare it."

Daryl nodded and began to untie several of his catches from a rope around his waist.

"Run into any trouble out there?" Rick asked, looking directly at Andrea.

When she failed to answer, Daryl looked from the Sheriff to her and back again. "Nope," he eventually replied, eyeing Rick curiously. "I'll be back after I talk to the women, and then we can go get the cars if you want."

Rick nodded. "Yeah, sounds good."

The redneck headed for the small building, and Andrea was quick to follow.

Frowning, Rick asked, "You're going with him? I was hoping I could talk to you for a minute."

"Not now," she snapped quickly. "I've got my own kill to bring to your wife and Carol." She placed a distinct emphasis on the phrase 'your wife'.

"Why, what'd you catch?" A hint of a smile played about his lips.

Daryl had stopped to hear the exchange and there was pride in his voice as he said, "Girlie caught herself a rabbit. Turns out, she's a pretty mean shot with the crossbow."

Rick would have killed to be on the receiving end of the dazzling grin Andrea offered Daryl. "I had a good teacher," she told the redneck graciously. Making it clear that she had nothing more to say to Rick, she strode quickly to catch up with her hunting partner and disappeared into the rectory with him.

Releasing a disappointed sigh, Rick headed towards the church on the hunt for Glenn. He felt grouchy and irritated, and he tried to focus on anything other than Andrea in an effort to shake off the agitation seeping into his countenance.

He discovered Glenn and Maggie cuddled together in a corner of the church, cleaning the shot gun Glenn had favoured of late. The sight did nothing to help Rick's mood: he envied the seeming ease of their love, the way they looked at one another with a warmth and devotion that made them practically vibrate with happiness. He thought he could remember times with Lori that had made him feel as happy as the young couple looked, but her current attitude towards him made it difficult to remember.

There was an unintentional hard edge to his voice as he broke up the tête-à-tête, asking Glenn to go see if there was any gas to be siphoned from the hearse. The Korean tenderly kissed his girlfriend on the cheek before leaving.

"Everything okay, Rick?" he heard Maggie ask as he turned to follow Glenn.

The Sheriff looked back at the young woman and found her frowning. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sure it will be Maggie, thanks." Feeling badly for the harsh way he had demanded Glenn's help, he made an attempt at a feeble smile and said, "I'll send him back to you as quick as I can, don't worry."

She nodded. As she watched him leave, Maggie said a silent prayer that whatever was bothering Rick would be taken care of, before his preoccupation threatened the group's safety.

The first good news Rick heard all day came in the form of Glenn's report that there was indeed some gas in the hearse. He gathered the group and asked for volunteers to head out for the retrieval of the three abandoned vehicles. He briefly considered ordering Andrea to come along on the trek, given the slim chance that he might be able to get her alone long enough for a conversation, but decided that ordering the stubborn woman to join them would likely end very badly.

He was not terribly surprised when Andrea volunteered to stay behind and keep watch in the tower. T-Dog, Daryl, Maggie, Glenn, and Hershel all opted to accompany the Sheriff on the trip.

The journey to the highway and back was without incident, and it was fairly late in the day when the convoy of vehicles returned to the church. Those who hadn't been part of the vehicle recovery had spent the afternoon unpacking the group's belongings and supplies in the rectory. Rick directed both cars and the truck to park near the rectory, facing away from the building should a quick escape be necessary. He and T-Dog had driven back in the pickup truck, and Rick was grateful that the man had not broached the subject of Andrea again, though that hadn't stopped him from thinking of little else other than the beguiling blonde for the entirety of the trip.


	11. Chapter 11

There was a decided air of levity that evening as the group sat down to tuck into the rabbit stew Carol had prepared that afternoon. Though the kitchen table in the rectory was not very big, the group had managed to squeeze together so that they all fit around it, and between finding a new headquarters and having a hearty meal to eat, dinner that evening bordered on celebratory.

Only Rick was absent, having volunteered to take watch in the tower. Andrea wasn't sure if he had done so because he wanted to avoid facing her, or avoid facing his wife, but was sure it was one of the two.

The foreign sound of laughter echoed off the kitchen walls as the group enjoyed each other's company, swapping stories and clinging to a moment that felt like it could have taken place before the world ended. Carl initially balked at eating the stew, insisting that rabbits were too cute to eat, but once his mother talked him into at least trying it, he quickly discovered that rabbits are also delicious, and wolfed down his dish like he hadn't eaten in years. A bottle of sacramental wine was unearthed from the pantry, and the adults around the table were all more than happy to indulge. The group toasted Andrea for her hunting ability and Daryl declared that he was thrilled to have a hunting partner now.

Even Andrea allowed herself to revel in the festivities, proud of her contribution and relieved by the relative security the group's new temporary headquarters provided. Despite the fact that she had deliberately avoided Rick all day, she felt a twinge of guilt over his missing out on the fun, knowing that if anyone needed a little joy, it was Rick.

All too quickly the meal was ending, everyone's need for sleep taking priority over the need to socialize. Lori took Carl upstairs to put him to bed, and Maggie and Glenn followed shortly afterwards, the giddy looks they exchanged leaving no doubt in anyone's mind about what they would be doing in the bedroom they'd chosen. Carol ladled a generous portion of soup out for Rick and left to bring it to him. Upon her return, she would be sharing a room with Andrea, while Hershel and Beth took the final bedroom; Daryl and T-Dog had offered to take a pair of couches in the rectory's small sitting room.

Rick watched wistfully from the tower as the last of the candle light blew out in the rectory. Based on Carol's happiness when she'd brought him his dinner, he knew he'd missed a very enjoyable evening, and resented the fact that Lori's request for distance had caused him to miss out. If he'd sat anywhere except next to Lori, Carl would have asked questions his father couldn't answer, would have been dismayed, and Rick didn't have the heart to do such a thing to his son.

The night unravelled in front of him as he watched from the tower window: a large, pale moon illuminated the church grounds, casting a pale blue light over the world. He dutifully scanned his eyes back and forth across the land below, feeling restless. An hour of tedium passed before he saw the front door of the rectory open out of the corner of his eye. He lifted the binoculars he had around his neck and saw moonlight glinting off of painfully familiar wavy blonde hair. Andrea moved quietly into the night, a shadow obscuring her face from Rick's view. She walked swiftly to the side of the rectory, and disappeared around a corner. Frowning, he lowered the binoculars. What the hell was she doing out at night, all by herself?

Before he had time to contemplate the possibilities, sound on the stairs behind him caused him to whirl around, prepared to attack. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that it was only Daryl.

"Evenin', boss," the redneck greeted him. "Why don't you take a break; you've been up here for hours."

Rick smiled with gratitude. "That does sound good," he mused, and didn't hesitate to hand Daryl the rifle and binoculars. "Sounds like I missed a good dinner."

Daryl nodded, the corners of his lips tugging upwards. "I suppose it _was_ kind of fun," he conceded. "That Carol's some cook, ain't she?"

The Sheriff grinned. "Best meal I've had in ages."

"Your boy couldn't get enough of that stew, even licked his bowl clean."

"Glad to hear it," Rick returned, gratefully. "I'm gonna go grab some shut-eye, but if you see anything you need help dealing with, just ring the bell and I'll come running."

Daryl nodded. "Got it."

Certain that the group's safety was in capable hands, Rick turned and left the tower.

He paused as he exited the church, trying to decide if he should attempt to find a place to sleep or take a look behind the rectory to see if Andrea was still around. In the end, it wasn't a terribly hard decision: if there was any chance that he might be able to finally talk to Andrea about the previous night, he had to take it.

The damp grass against his boots made a slight swishing sound as he cut across the grounds, carefully watching his surroundings for threats. Just as he was rounding the corner of the building, he heard faint sounds of whimpering and sniffling. His hand moved to his Python as he slunk forward in the darkness. His posture relaxed however once he drew close enough to see that though the sounds were coming from Andrea, they were not a reaction to any imminent danger.

He cocked his head and looked quizzically at the scene before him. Andrea was sitting on the hood of the hearse, laying back against the front windshield. One hand covered her face, and Rick realized that the sounds he was hearing were her crying. "Andrea?" he asked as he neared her.

Her body leapt as though electrified. She sat bolt upright as her eyes snapped open, her head swivelling towards her visitor. She relaxed slightly as her eyes fell on him. "Jesus, Rick, you scared the hell out of me," she grumbled, taking several deep breaths.

"Sorry," he returned apologetically. "That wasn't my intention." His eyes skimmed over her. "What are you doing out here?"

Andrea turned away from him and returned to her position laying on the windshield. "Now is not a good time, Rick," said flatly, closing her eyes as she rubbed at her face.

He took a few steps closer to her. "What's wrong?" he tried gently.

She maintained her position stoically, keeping her eyes shut. "Go away, Rick."

Silence ensued, and she thought that perhaps he wad left. Then she felt the hood shift under her body, and turned to glare at him as he sat on the left side of the hood. "Did you not hear me?" she bit out. "I said go away."

Rick smiled at her as he brought his legs up and slid so that he was lying down next to her. "Nope."

She scooted over to put more space between them. When she realized he wasn't about to leave, she exhaled a resigned sigh.

"So what's got you so upset?" He asked, folding his hands behind his head, staring up at the stars.

Andrea sniffled. "Nothing," she said, her mouth set in a stubborn line.

"Bullshit. You were crying."

She turned her head towards his and frowned. "Don't you dare tell anyone you saw me doing that," she huffed.

He chuckled. "Your secret's safe with me." He finally rolled his own head to look at her, and the intimacy of lying next to her, staring into her eyes, sent a tingle down his spine. "So what's wrong?"

He knew she sensed it too when she quickly looked away and gazed instead at the sky. "Everything," she finally conceded. "I miss Dale. I miss Amy. And you… hell, I've done some things I shouldn't have with you, and now things are kind of a mess." He saw her eyes well up, and his heart went out to her. He'd lost people too, but the people she was mourning had both been a huge part of her life, both left huge holes inside of her in their absence. He realized her stubbornness had kept her from reaching out to anyone over her losses, and he slipped his hand into hers quietly, lacing their fingers together.

She flinched. "Please don't make me add to the list of things I've done wrong."

Rick drew a long breath. "Nope, I'm just gonna do this until you feel better, promise."

She looked at him carefully, decided he was sincere, and sighed. "Fine," she muttered.

After a time, he ventured, "Are the things we've… done with each other, are they really so wrong? They didn't feel wrong to me."

She groaned. "Hell, yes, they're wrong. You're _married_. Why am I the one who needs to keep reminding you of that?"

He looked at the stars winking above them, at the white light of the moon as thin clouds drifted across it. He didn't speak for a few moments, thinking hard on her assertion. When he finally did turn back to her and speak, his voice was hushed, almost reverent. "A beautiful woman once told me that the morality of our old world doesn't exist anymore, that morality in this new, screwed-up world is based on survival." He reached one arm across his body and laid his hand against her cheek. "I _need _you if I'm going to survive." The conviction he felt, his belief in his statement, was so fierce and undeniable that her breath hitched in her throat. "That makes… whatever this is feel pretty right to me," he finished.

Andrea lifted her hand to cover his where it lay on her face. She sighed and squeezed his fingers before gently pushing his hand away. "I'm not ready to agree with that just yet," she murmured. "I think we need to back away from each other for a while, really think this through."

Rick frowned, looking crestfallen despite a small leap of hope that tugged at his heart. _She said __**'yet'**_, every synapse in his brain screamed. "If that's the way you want this, that's fine," he told her. "But I'm telling you right now, my mind is made up, and no amount of thought is going to change it." He smiled slowly. Andrea couldn't stop staring at his lips, couldn't stop thinking of all the wonderful things his mouth had done to her.

The cool night air hugged their bodies as they both watched the velvet sky above pensively, without speaking.

Eventually, Rick cleared his throat and asked, "So… why are we laying on the hood of a hearse?"

Andrea brought her eyes to his and smirked. "Had a boyfriend in high school I used to do this with. He had a bright red GTO. I think I liked his car more than him."

"Hmm," he mused. "Maybe I wouldn't have kept striking out with the ladies if I'd let them lounge around on the top of my Gremlin?" Though he made an effort to look serious, his eyes sparkled with mirth.

She giggled at the image of Rick's long legs crunched up in a tiny, decrepit Gremlin. "Maybe," she managed, beginning to laugh.

The Sheriff's laughter joined hers, and they lay together long into the night, swapping stories about high school, their linked hands tethering them to each other as they blissfully sank into the warmth of one another's company.


	12. Chapter 12

The late night conversation on the hood of the hearse seemed to function as a peace accord of sorts between Andrea and Rick, as the next few days found the group lapsing into survival-ensuring chores that by now brought a feeling of normalcy. Andrea continued to hunt with Daryl in the mornings, her skills increasing at an impressive rate. While tracking a deer, the pair had come across a nearby lake, allowing Carol and Lori to resume their laundry chores, and giving the group at large access to life-giving water and a place to bathe. Dinners remained an enjoyable event, though Rick, still struggling with the accusatory glares his wife persisted in levelling at him, continued to take his meals in the tower while the others ate in the rectory. In light of the group's uniform satisfaction with their surroundings for the time being, construction was begun on a fence to secure the perimeter of the church grounds, though the chopping down of trees and nailing together of wood ensured that the project moved at a slow pace. Only a handful of walkers stumbled onto the property, and all were put down quickly and easily.

When Rick did interact with Andrea, he managed to keep conversations neutral and friendly, still fighting his own desires, but trying desperately to respect her wishes. As a result, a comfortable camaraderie began to develop between them.

One afternoon, Andrea recruited Carl and Hershel to help her in the building of a raft; Rick was touched that she had thought to include his son. Like his father, Carl was at his most content when he had a project to focus on, and he attacked the building of the water transport with admirable zeal.

It took two days to complete, but once the required number of felled tree logs had been securely lashed together, Carl and Andrea took to the lake, where she taught him how to fish using a sturdy branch, a length of twine found in the rectory, and repurposed curtain rings she had split and sharpened into hooks.

Rick's heart swelled at his son's pride when the boy brought home several bass one night for dinner. "Look at these monsters, Dad!" Carl exclaimed as he ran up to his father and held up a rope laden with his catches.

Rick let out a low whistle. "Very impressive," he said, eyes crinkling at the corners as a wide smile split his face. "I had no idea you were so talented!"

Carl beamed. "It's not so hard, Dad. I bet Andrea could teach you too."

The Sheriff looked at the blonde standing next to Carl, her hand on the boy's shoulder. "What do you say, can I get a lesson?"

She returned his grin and cocked her head. "I dunno. You strike me as someone who might be clumsy on the water."

The child standing between them looked up at her. "Aw, come on Andrea, he might be able to do it."

Rick's laugh was warm and sincere. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, kid," he said, rolling his eyes as he ruffled his son's hair. "Why don't you go show mom and Carol and see if they'll fry 'em up?"

Carl nodded eagerly. "See ya!" he chirped before running to the rectory.

Rick watched him go, then turned back to Andrea. "Thanks for doing that," he said. "I haven't seen him this happy in ages."

She nodded. "He's a sweet kid," she returned with a shrug. "Plus, he knows lots of embarrassing stories about you."

Her impish grin was doing funny things to his stomach. "Oh God. I am gonna have to talk to him about that before you start blackmailing me."

"I think that's called closing the barn door after the horse has already escaped," she said flippantly, eyes dancing.

Rick groaned.

Though reluctant to leave his company, Andrea was determined to maintain her distance from the man, and excused herself from the conversation under the guise of checking out the progress on the fence.

Rick allowed himself the luxury of eyeing her backside as he watched her go, but his pleasant diversion was interrupted momentarily by Glenn calling his name.

"Hey, Rick!"

He looked up and saw the Korean striding purposefully towards him across the grass; squinting against the sun, Rick could just make out a large, rectangular object in Glenn's hand. As the younger man drew nearer, he saw that his face was plastered with a giddy smile.

"What's up?" he asked when Glenn was in front of him.

"Check it out – I found it when I was poking around that little office in the church." He waved the object in his hand, and Rick saw that it was a copy of the Yellow Pages.

"A phone book?" The Sheriff frowned.

"Yup!" Glenn looked incredibly pleased with himself.

"What's so exciting about that?"

"Because now, instead of sending out search parties to see what's around, we can look stuff up with this!"

Rick smiled broadly, finally recognizing the book's worth. "Hey, that _is_ great!"

The Korean nodded rapidly. "And it gets better!" he exclaimed. "It turns out there's a strip mall not too far from here, and it's got a Wal-Mart, and a hardware store, and a grocery store and all kinds of stuff."

"Hmm. A place like that could really help us out here," countered Rick, finding the other man's excitement contagious. "Though it is possible the whole thing's been looted already."

Glenn was undeterred. "It could be, but we're in the middle of nowhere here. I figure there's a pretty good chance we could find an awesome stash given that the place isn't exactly along the beaten path. Like that pharmacy near Hershel's farm, right? I mean, there was a ton of stuff left in there. Maybe this place will be the same."

Rick nodded. "You could be right," he decided. He rubbed his hand along his jaw, considering the possibilities. "Alright, I'll tell you what," he said after a minute. "How about you put together a list of needed supplies: go talk to the group, see what everyone might want or need when we go. I'll bet if we got Hershel some seeds, we might even be able to start growing some food around here. We'll head out tomorrow."

Glenn nodded happily. "I was thinking I might siphon gas out of one of the cars and transfer it to the pickup, just so there's plenty in it. Probably our best choice of vehicle for bringing back as much as we can."

"Good thinking," Rick replied. "Oh, and Glenn," he added as the younger man moved to leave. "Good work, son. Really good." He clapped a hand across the Korean's back.

Glenn nodded soberly though his expression was distinctly proud. "Thanks," he said, then headed off to complete his tasks.


	13. Chapter 13

While the rest of the group still slumbered, Daryl, Andrea, Glenn and Rick convened next to the pickup truck early the following morning. Though the sun had risen, the sky was an ominous grey, and the stillness of the wind was almost eerie.

Daryl eyed the dark clouds above them. "Looks like some kind of storm might be brewing."

Rick nodded. "Let's hope it holds off for a while."

Map in hand, Glenn climbed into the cab of the pickup truck while Rick slipped in behind the wheel. Andrea and Daryl stepped up into the truck bed, and the little group was off in search of the strip mall.

At various points along the way, several walkers poked their heads out of the woods as the truck passed, and Rick slowed each time while Daryl fired arrows into their heads, and watched as each ghastly creature crumpled to the ground.

The strip mall appeared on the horizon after a little less than an hour's drive. Rick and Glenn strained to see the condition of the place as they approached, both mentally crossing their fingers that the placed wasn't completely ransacked. The closer they got to their destination, the more optimistic the two men felt: while there were a few smashed windows scattered around the mall, and a handful of abandoned cars in the parking lot, there was nothing to immediately suggest that the place had been cleaned out. The space had been designed to feel like a town square: several wooden benches and toppled café tables were dotted around the lot, and a smattering of huge oak trees framed each store's entrance.

By the time Rick pulled the truck into the lot, the winds had picked up dramatically, and distant thunder could be heard. The group disembarked and formed a small circle in the front of the truck. Glenn pulled two copies of the "shopping" list from the back pocket of his jeans and handed one to Rick.

"Let's do this in pairs," the Sheriff directed. "Glenn, you take Daryl with you to that hardware store, and Andrea and I will check out the Wal-Mart." Andrea opened her mouth to protest, but Rick anticipated her objection. "It just makes sense for each pair to have a sharp-shooter," he told her in a tone that left little room for argument. Looking at the group as a whole, he continued. "There's a good chance we might come across some walkers once we get inside, so stay sharp. Four of us came here, and I want four of us to leave here. We'll all grab as much as we can, and load the truck with as much as we can fit into it. If we're real lucky and we do this right, we might not have to risk our necks scavenging for a good long while. Everyone ready?"

The three faces looking back at him all nodded. Lightning flashed above, and Daryl looked up, his expression wary.

"I don't like the look of that sky, boss," he said.

Rick raised his eyes and frowned. "Me neither," he admitted. "So let's do this quick. See if you can find a tarp or something while you're in the hardware store so we can cover our loot if it starts to rain."

"Will do," returned the redneck, and he and Glenn left in the direction of the store they'd been assigned.

The Sheriff glanced back at Andrea and was not surprised to see her looking annoyed. "What?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"One sharp-shooter per pair?" she asked. "You know damn well guns will be a last resort here. Glenn can stab things just as well as I can."

Rick rolled his eyes. "Fine, I confess: I just like the idea of having you to myself for a while. Is that so wrong?"

She frowned, looking askew at him. "You just keep your mind on the job," she finally grumbled.

He offered her a slow-burn smile that accelerated her heart rate. "I'll do my best," he drawled.

It was Andrea's turn to roll her eyes. She pivoted away from him and strode quickly towards the Wal-Mart, not bothering to wait for him to follow.

Her senses were on high alert as she entered the store, scanning her surroundings, which were dimly lit by the half-light outside. In a moment Rick was next to her doing the same thing, but neither spotted any obvious threats. Much to their surprise, the store looked more or less intact: the shelves they could see from their current position still bore a fair amount of goods.

"Let's check the place for walkers before we start getting supplies," he suggested quietly.

Not taking her eyes from the store, she nodded, and they began to move in tandem up and down the aisles. As they rounded the fourth aisle, Rick raised a hand and nodded towards a walker facing away from them, shuffling along aimlessly. He began creeping towards it, knife poised for attack. Andrea followed closely behind, drawing her own knife to back him up.

Just as he coiled to spring on the oblivious thing, a sickly, grey-green hand snaked out from under a shelf and grabbed Rick by the foot, sending him sprawling onto the floor, momentarily stunned. The walker he'd been about to kill whirled around at the noise, emitting an inhuman groan when he spotted the tasty meal in front of him. Andrea's knife flashed, and in a blur of movement, and she pierced the skull of the walker in front of her, than swiftly dislodged her weapon and swept to the floor: the walker emerging from beneath the shelf was dead before it knew what was happening.

She straightened and looked down at Rick as she tried to catch her breath. He took the hand she extended to him and struggled to his feet. "So you're a sharp-shooter _and_ a sharp-stabber, huh?"

Trying not to smile, she smoothed a few strands of hair that had come loose during the attack from her forehead. "There's no need to look so smug about it," she huffed. His low chuckle made her knees wobble a little. "Come on, we've got a lot more store to clear."

Their confidence in each other's abilities brought a security and an efficiency to their search. Passing through odds and ends, both were pleased to see all kinds of useful resources surrounding them. The aisle labelled "survival gear" was predictably barren, but the place appeared to be a veritable gold mine otherwise. In one of the last aisles they searched, they came upon another lone walker, and it spotted them immediately. The thing wore the cheap nylon uniform of a store employee, and stumbled towards them, snarling and drooling. Andrea drew her knife, but Rick put out a hand to stop her.

"This one's mine, darlin'" he drawled. She frowned at the term of endearment, then watched as he swiftly dispatched of the monster with a jab to the eye. Retrieving his knife, he wiped it on his jeans and tucked it back into its holster. "That's gotta be the last of 'em."

A quick sweep of the few remaining aisles proved Rick correct. They circled back to the rear of the store, checking for any additional exits that might let in more walkers, and found all doors locked tight, with no sign of any keys. "Let's grab some carts and start shopping," Andrea told him.

He nodded and tore in half the list Glenn had given him, giving one piece to her. "Keep your eyes peeled, just in case," he cautioned her.

Working separately, it wasn't long before the pair had amassed a line of shopping carts packed with goods in front of the main entrance. With each new cart they added, the gathering storm outside grew more ominous-looking. The winds had whipped up to full out howls, and lightning and thunder began to flash and crash with alarming frequency.

Rick had just rolled his final cart to the front of the store when he spotted the pickup truck driven by Daryl and Glenn pull up. From the looks of the truck bed, they'd had a very successful outing at the hardware store, and he wondered if two trips might be in order.

The two men climbed from the truck, Glenn clutching at his baseball cap to keep the wind from pulling it off.

"You guys can start loading the truck with whatever will fit," Rick yelled over the wind.

"Let's make this quick," Daryl shouted back. "That sky ain't gonna hold out long."

The Sheriff nodded his understanding and began pushing carts out the door.

Andrea joined him with her last cart several minutes later. Wind though the open front door whipped her hair around her face. "Jesus, it's like the apocalypse out there!" she hollered, fighting to be heard over the wind.

Rick nodded, and gestured for her to start helping with the loading of the truck.

They had crammed almost three-quarters of their scavenged Wal-Mart supplies into the pickup when the rains came, pouring down in a deluge that quickly overwhelmed the parking lot's sewer drains. Outside the store, the water rose to their ankles, and Glenn and Daryl worked furiously to tie the tarp they'd found in the hardware store over the truck bed; the water made pushing the carts slow and difficult, and Rick and Andrea began carrying out their finds in their arms. A bolt of lightning struck the antennae of a two-story clothing store on the other side of the parking lot. "Shit!" yelped Glenn, as thunder followed only a split-second later.

"Focus!" ordered Daryl, his dirty-blond locks plastered to his head as the rain drenched him.

Rick deposited another armload of goods into the truck bed, then looked back into the store. Andrea stood over one of the few remaining carts, grabbing as much as she could manage. "Almost done!" he yelled to Glenn and Daryl, who both looked relieved by the news.

Fighting the driving rain, the Sheriff had just stepped back into the store when a flash of lightning momentarily blinded him; an ear-splitting crack followed second later. He turned to look out the front doors just as a colossal oak tree smashed into the sidewalk a few feet away from him. The impact drove him backwards, and he immediately lost sight of the truck as the smouldering tree obscured the entire entranceway. The trunk was nearly as wide as the door was tall, and he could hear Daryl and Glenn yelling on the other side.

Rick looked frantically around the store, and relaxed visibly when he saw that Andrea was still inside, and hadn't been anywhere near the felled tree. "We're okay!" he shouted to the two men outside.

"There's gotta be a back door!" Glenn's voice was nearly inaudible.

"We checked earlier!" Rick returned. "There's no other way out!"

"Hang in there, boss!" Daryl hollered back. "We'll get a rope and try to rig the truck to-"

"There's no time!" Rick called out, cutting the other man off. "Just go! Take what you've got and get back to camp!"

"We can't just leave you!" the redneck yelled back stubbornly.

"Go! You can come get us tomorrow! We'll be safe here overnight!" Rick had no intention of endangering the two men further. "Go help the group secure the camp! We can't lose those supplies!"

For a minute there was no reply, and Rick knew Glenn and Daryl were considering their limited choices. After an agonizing silence, Daryl's voice pierced through the winds. "Okay! We'll be here at sunrise! Stay safe!"

Relieved, Rick shouted, "We'll be fine! Take care of Carl for me!"

"Will do! See you tomorrow!"

The roar of the truck's engine signalled Glenn and Daryl's departure, and Rick exhaled deeply.

"Well, this is just great."

He looked behind him and saw Andrea standing with her arms folded across her chest, her brow furrowed. She threw up her hands. "Just great," she muttered as she stormed away from him.


	14. Chapter 14

Rick found Andrea depositing candles around a bedroom display. The gaudy brass bed was dressed in hideous, pastel floral linens, but did at least look comfortable. The end tables on either side of the bed had both been knocked over, and the light bulbs were missing from a trio of lamps. She failed to notice him standing behind her, and he took the opportunity to admire the curves her skin-tight jeans were hugging. As his gaze lingered on her, he felt his body begin to respond to the sight, and quickly decided that he needed the distraction of conversation. "Need a hand?"

She jumped slightly. "You could go look for something to light these candles with," she suggested flatly, without turning around.

He sighed. "You do realize that I didn't actually _plan_ on getting us trapped in here?"

She finally looked at him and scowled. "Wouldn't surprise me," she grumbled. She tried not to notice how handsome his features were when he smiled in response before heading off to do as she had asked.

_He's married_, she reminded herself firmly. _Married, married, married._ She busied herself righting the two bedside tables, choosing several candles from the pile she'd dumped on the bed, and placing a few on each table top.

After setting up the last of the candles, she moved to one of two easy chairs in the display, and sank into it. She tugged at the elastic holding up her wet hair and dragged it from her tangled tresses, shaking her locks free and looking around for something to dry herself with.

"Need one of these?"

She looked up and saw Rick standing in front of her, holding out a towel he'd grabbed during his search for fire.

Andrea nodded and took his offering, her face showing begrudging gratitude. She began to rub her hair with the towel, and Rick took the lighter he'd recovered and started lighting candles.

"You know, candlelight is _very_ romantic," he drawled.

She glared at him as he lit the last candle. "Goddamn it Rick, nothing has changed." Her tone did not hold the conviction she'd hoped it would.

He straightened and looked down at her, blatantly running his eyes up and down her body. "Then could you at least give a guy a break and go find some dry clothes?"

She looked down at herself and saw to her dismay that her drenched t-shirt was nearly transparent. "Shit," she muttered, immediately covering herself with her hands. She stood and walked briskly to the women's clothing section, the sound of Rick's chuckle following her.

When Andrea returned dressed in a tight cotton t-shirt and form-fitting yoga pants, she found Rick lounging on the bed with his eyes closed; she saw that he had scavenged his own dry clothes in the form of a crisp white t-shirt and a pair of jeans that were a little too big for him.

Hearing her approach, he kept his eyes closed as he said, "We should probably see what there is to eat in here."

She moved to stand at the foot of the bed. "In a bit. Check out what I found."

Opening his eyes, he sat up. A huge smile lit his whole face. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yup." In her hands she held a small portable boom box; a collection of CDs was tucked under her arm. "I found a few gems in the CD section too."

"Batteries?" His face had the hopeful innocence of a child on Christmas morning, and she couldn't deny that she found it incredibly endearing.

In response, she set the CD player on one of the bedside tables and pressed play, then plunked herself into the easy chair. The sweet strains of Lynyrd Skynyrd began to emanate from the speakers.

Rick was thrilled. "Oh my God, I haven't heard music in _so_ long, I'd almost forgotten what it sounds like." He closed his eyes and let the opening chords of "Free Bird" waft over him. "Oh Jesus, this is the best song."

Andrea couldn't help giggling, feeling giddy. Unable to contain herself, she began to croon along to the lyrics, and her toes started tapping of their own accord.

His voice joined hers as he flopped back onto the bed, letting the wail of the guitar and the pounding of the drums envelop him, carrying him to a time before the world went to hell. They sang together at the top of their lungs like teenagers at a concert. The effect was positively transcendent. They listened blissfully to a few more tracks, then Rick sat up and said eagerly, "Lemme see what else you found."

She passed him a few of the CDs she'd dropped next to the chair.

He flipped through them with an enthusiasm that set her to laughing again. "Oh, this, _this_," he blurted when he saw the CD titled "Led Zeppelin IV". He switched out the CDs with amazing speed, and carefully selected a track.

Andrea's body sank into the chair with ecstasy when the beautiful opening notes of "Stairway to Heaven" hit her ear. "Oh, shit, good choice," she murmured.

He watched her close her eyes, her face almost angelic in her pleasure. He was not surprised to feel a heat rising within him.

"God, I remember we used to beg them to play this at school dances, because it meant you could dance with a boy for like seven whole minutes," she said softly, eyes still shut, lost in reverie. A smile played maddeningly about her lips.

She heard Rick clear his throat and opened her eyes. He was standing over her with his hand extended in front of him, a nerve-wrackingly sensual grin on his face. She frowned. "What?"

His eyes sparkled. "I think we've got about six minutes of song left. Care to dance?"

Her heart did several summersaults. "Bad idea," she managed to reply, but her voice wavered.

Sensing her defences were weakening, Rick refused to back down. "One dance. How much harm can it do?"

She gazed into his eyes, searching. Despite vehement protests from her common sense, she finally stood. "Famous last words," she grumbled.

He took her by the hand and she felt a jolt of electricity pass from him to her. He led her to a space in front of the bed, and, with the music drifting over them, he slid one hand to her hip and pulled her to him.

Andrea looked up at him and felt her free hand automatically move to his shoulder. He lifted their joined hands, laced their fingers together, and sighed happily. They began to sway in time with the music, staring at one another, both grappling with feelings that were simultaneously terrifying and awe-inspiring and, somewhere deep within themselves, wonderful.

Constantly fighting her attraction to him was exhausting, and she decided to give herself a break from the struggle, if only for a minute: she let her fingers slip from his and wrapped both arms around his neck, before laying her head on his chest and closing her eyes. She breathed in his now-familiar scent and allowed herself to get lost in the music.

Rick sucked in a sharp breath at her shift in position. He moved his freed hand around her waist, pulling her flush against him. Impulsively, he dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head, but she didn't stir. She merely sighed with contentment, lost in the moment.

Several minutes after the song had ended, she still hadn't moved, was still swaying with him to her own inner soundtrack. He lowered his head and whispered, "Music stopped, sweetheart."

"Mmm?" It took a few seconds for his words to register. "Oh!" she said when they finally did. She tried to take a step back, but his hands didn't move, couldn't relinquish her to reality.

"Rick…" she warned, starting to squirm under his heated gaze.

His eyes darkened, his tone grew husky. "Can't you just give in to this?" he murmured.

She looked for a moment as though she might do just that, but ultimately she shook her head and pushed against his chest with both hands. He released her. "I… I've decided there is no 'this' to give in to. There is nothing between us, Rick. You've got to stop this."

His face displayed a hint of amusement as he watched her eyes dart around the store, her muscles tensed as though she were a cornered wild animal, desperate for escape. "You're kidding, right?" he asked with disbelief.

"No."

"You are really going to stand there with a straight face and tell me you feel nothing for me?" All traces of amusement vanished, and were quickly replaced by exasperation.

"That's… that's right," she stammered.

"You are a terrible liar," he told her gruffly as he took a step towards her.

She stood her ground. "It's the truth," she insisted stubbornly.

He grabbed her forearms. "You sure about that?" he demanded, his gaze smouldering.

She swallowed, found it hard to breathe. "Yes," she squeaked, nearly inaudible.

His wolfish grin made the edges of her world blur. He yanked her to him and growled, "prove it," before his lips descended over hers.

She gasped into his mouth and tried to wriggle from his grip, but he was unrelenting. She opened her mouth to his insistent tongue, and he deepened the kiss impossibly, tasting her lips, her teeth, her tongue. Her head spun and she gave in to him almost instantly, burying her fingers in his soft, dark hair, sick and tired of denying herself the incredible pleasure he promised. She revelled in his taste, her nails raking across his scalp in her enthusiasm. Her body grew gelatinous, and she felt his arms tighten around her to support her weight. And then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

He stepped back from her, his breathing ragged. "Nothing, huh?"

Her body was on fire, her stance unsteady. "Shut up," she hissed, then stepped to him and grabbed his face with both hands, slamming her lips into his.

The passion in her kiss took his breath away and he engulfed her in his arms, his hands roaming over her body, caressing her back, her hips, her bum. She clung to him as though she was afraid he might disappear, allowing her own hands to travel the width of his broad back, down to his backside, then returning to caress the back of his neck.

Her appetite was ravenous; she couldn't get enough of him. Her fingers found the hem of his t-shirt and tugged impatiently upwards on it. He lifted his arms and she dragged the garment up over his head before he returned the favour with her own shirt. The process was interrupted several times as their lips frantically sought each other out, as though they couldn't bear even the briefest of separations from one another. She felt the hard ridge of his desire pressing through his jeans against her stomach, felt her own body reacting in the same way.

His long fingers deftly undid her bra clasp, and she shrugged out of the garment and let it fall to the ground unheeded. He licked and kissed his way down her neck, her chest. As she arched into him, his mouth closed over one breast, his tongue flicking out at her nipple, teasing it into a stiff point; his hand moved to her other breast, and he rolled her hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

She squirmed and moaned softly, clutching at his head with her hands, twisting her fingers in his hair. He tugged at her nipple with his lips, gently grazing his teeth across the sensitive tip. "Jesus, Rick.." she whispered. Her fingers fumbled with the waistband of his jeans, and he felt a cool draft against his legs as his pants fell around his ankles. He stepped smoothly out of them and scooped Andrea into his arms in one fluid motion, carrying her to the bed and dropping her on to it, too inflamed to bother with tenderly laying her down.

He was on her in a flash, straddling her as he once again brought his mouth to hers, kissing her with a staggering ferocity. She ran her hands along his chest, feeling his curly, springy hair tickle her palms as she traced the outlines of muscles with her fingertips. It wasn't long before she was reaching down to undo her pants, but his hands quickly grabbed her about the wrists and pinned them to her sides. "Rick please…" she whimpered.

Fighting for control, he rasped, "No need to rush this, darlin'." Her body was practically vibrating with desire as he ran his tongue down her stomach, nipping and kissing as he went. When he reached the top of her pants, he swiftly untied the drawstring, and pushed the garment slowly down her long, graceful legs, leaving her clad only in a thin pair of cotton underwear. Once the pants had joined the other clothes on the floor, he began to work his way back up her legs with his mouth, losing himself in the taste of her soft, supple skin. Arriving again at her underwear, he eased them off of her; she kicked them off impatiently when they reached her feet.

Rick straightened and greedily drank in the sight of Andrea, naked and writhing beneath him. "My God, you are gorgeous," he murmured in awe. She looked up at him and felt scorched by the heat of his gaze.

"Your turn," she commanded. She ran her fingers down the line of hair beginning at his navel, following it until it disappeared into his boxer-briefs. His breathing was shallow and rapid as he watched.

He grinned and swiftly pulled his underwear off, throwing them carelessly across the store. She gasped at the sight of him naked and aroused. "Guess it's true what they say about big feet," she managed. She reached out and wrapped her hands around his erection, her elegant fingers exploring him, stroking him.

He held his breath and tried to think of something, anything else besides the exquisite pleasure her touch was bringing, but he lasted less than a minute before he snatched her hands up with his, desperate to avoid finishing things too soon. He marvelled that the simple act of her hands on him was enough to make him lose control so quickly.

She felt him nudge her legs apart with his knee, and she arched off the bed with a cry of pleasure as his fingers found the most intimate part of her. He found her slick and ready; he caressed and probed, his fingers sliding in and out of her as her moans grew louder. When his mouth took the place of his fingers, she gasped out his name, hovering on the verge of oblivion. He licked and savoured her, searching out the tiny, sensitive button within her folds. His tongue thrust in and out of her, and she moaned deliriously, his name becoming a chant that she couldn't stop calling out. He felt her shudder violently as she orgasmed, and struggled to maintain control over his own body.

He brought his lips back to hers with a growl, and she tasted herself on his tongue. She felt his manhood, thick and heavy against the top of her inner thigh, and tore her lips from his, panting, "Rick please… I need… I need you…"

He groaned raggedly and positioned himself between her legs. He pushed into her smoothly, and she cried out in ecstasy, her internal muscles gripping him tightly. He throbbed within her, white lights flashing behind his eyes as he began to move in and out of her at a maddeningly slow pace. Her head rolled from side to side on the pillow and she whimpered, "Harder, Rick… faster." She bucked up into his strokes, desperate to feel more of him, to feel him deeper. It was nearly more than he could take, and he began to thrust faster and faster, driving into her with a force he'd never felt before, while she called out over and over. Their movements grew frenetic, animalistic, and Andrea wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper into her. Sweat poured off of them as their bodies slammed into each other again and again, their voices growing louder as they simultaneously approached the precipice of desire.

Rick's name escaped Andrea's lips as she cried out, and he felt her body spasm around him as wave after wave of orgasm ran through her. He joined her with his own explosive release, every muscle in his body tensing as he spilled himself into her, shuddering and groaning. The world around them shattered into a million pieces as they fell into the abyss together, gasping for air, melting into one another.

Completely spent, he rolled from her, bringing her with him, still inside her. She curled into him, nestling into his chest as she tried to bring her breathing back to normal.

Several minutes passed as they tried to recover from their cataclysmic passion, the intensity and pleasure of it all leaving them both stunned.

His arms around her, Rick finally slipped out of her and looked down, finding that her eyes were closed, her lips curled into a satiated smile. He kissed her temple gently and her long lashes lifted, her blue-green eyes looking into his. "Holy God," she murmured.

He grinned foolishly. "Most people just call me Rick."

She bit back a smile. "Shut up," she said softly, stretching to kiss his lips.

He kissed her languidly in return, felt her leg slip between his legs. She sighed contentedly and lay her head against the pillow, her cheek pressed against his chest.

"You hungry?" he asked, his baritone voice vibrating beneath her ear.

"Mmm." She yawned, feeling sleep edge in. "Nap first, then food."

Rick too felt exhaustion claiming him. "No argument here," he replied, and they drifted off into the sweet embrace of sleep, wrapped in each other's arms.


	15. Chapter 15

He couldn't say for sure how long he had slept when he awoke sometime later. Glancing over at a side table, Rick saw that the candles had burnt about half way down. He realized quickly that the woman he'd fallen asleep next to was no longer there, and he sat up swiftly, eyes sweeping his surroundings. "Andrea?" he called out.

She emerged from behind a shelf with a feline grin, wearing only her underwear and the T-shirt he'd worn earlier. She sauntered towards him, arms laden with several boxes and tins. Her hips swayed hypnotically as she moved, and his hands itched to feel her body again. "Drop that shit and get back here," he growled.

Enjoying her power, Andrea deliberately slowed her pace, smiling sensually. "I don't know, I'm pretty hungry," she mused melodramatically as she padded across the floor.

He swept his eyes shamelessly up her bare legs, over her full hips, across her heavy breasts straining and bobbing beneath the fabric of the t-shirt she wore: he felt himself grow hard and sweat broke out on his forehead.

When she finally reached the foot of the bed, she let her armload of tins and boxes fall in a heap on the blankets; she held on to a can-opener that she twirled around one finger. "Ready to eat?" she asked, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

"Hell, yes." She shrieked with surprise as he leapt from the bed stark naked and grabbed her around the waist, crushing her to him. The can opener clattered to the ground. Her feet left the ground as his lips found hers, and he kissed her ravenously as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Holding her, he stumbled backwards until he felt the armchair hit his calves, and fell heavily into the chair, bringing her with him.

Emboldened by her position atop him, she placed her hands flat against his chest, and leaned down. She laid kisses down his neck, then traced the outline of his ear with her tongue. "Ready again so soon?" she purred.

He groaned with desire and grabbed at her shirt. "Guess you have that effect on me."

She leaned back and smiled devilishly. Holding him down, she slid across his body and knelt in front of him. "I believe it's your turn for this now," she informed him, her voice like honey. She moved between his legs and drew him into her mouth, bringing him in until he hit the back of her throat.

"Oh my God," he rasped, closing his eyes, his breath faltering.

The sounds of pure pleasure he was making left her with an ache at the apex of her thighs. She continued to eagerly move up and down his shaft with her mouth, her tongue swirling around his sensitive tip, feeling him pulse beneath her lips.

"Oh shit," he muttered as his tightly wound need threatened to unravel. "Andrea, stop… stop!" On the verge of release, he grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her up his body. She leaned back as she straddled his upper thighs, slipping her shirt up and over her head. Rick's hands immediately cupped and kneaded her breasts as she tried to slide her underwear off while maintaining her balance. Unwilling to wait, he tore at the fabric, ripping the underwear along a side seam; the flimsy garment pooled around one of her knees.

Eyes wide with surprise, Andrea opened her mouth to speak, but forgot what she was going to say when Rick's hands encircled her waist and lifted her easily, positioning her above him, then setting her down, sheathing himself within her. She gasped as she began to ride him, setting a frantic pace. The leisurely foreplay of their earlier encounter had been dispensed of entirely: this was raw, fast, undiluted need.

He lifted his hips with each down stroke she took, driving himself into her as she moaned with increasing volume. She rode him hard, bracing herself against his chest to gain leverage, and her breasts bounced wildly beneath his hands.

She cried out as she began to climax, and Rick watched her face as she did, spurring on his own orgasm. His final strokes into her were powerful and deep as he exploded inside her, and he felt a second wave of orgasm ripple through Andrea's body. She collapsed on top of him, taking in huge gulps of air. When he finally regained control of his muscles, he stood with her still wrapped around him and took two steps to the bed, where they toppled onto the mattress.

They lay together for several minutes, trying to regain their senses, waiting for their heartbeats to return to normal. With his arms around her, Rick finally said, "Okay, we _really_ need to eat."

She snickered and looked up at his handsome face. "I believe I already tried to make that happen."

His fingers traced lazy circles on her forearm. "You walk around looking that goddamned sexy, what did you think was going to happen?"

She smirked. "I didn't count on you being good to go again so soon." She cocked one eyebrow impishly. "You are an old man, after all."

He growled and kissed her soundly. When he withdrew, he chided, "Oh, you are _hilarious_, darlin'."

She grinned in return and wriggled from his grasp, then sat up. She began pawing through the tins and boxes she'd dumped on the bed. "I found some granola bars, some tuna, some crackers that are probably stale… oh, and eww, I found some sardines," she finished, wrinkling her nose. "I'm pretty sure those never go bad… or get any worse, I guess."

Rick sat up next to her and grabbed at the sardines. "You're crazy," he told her, hooking his finger through the tin's metal ring and peeling back the lid. "Sardines are delicious!" He popped a few into his mouth and licked his lips dramatically.

Andrea stuck her tongue out as she watched. "Ick. I think I'll go with a granola bar."

"As long as you get some calories in you," he said, grinning suggestively. "You might be burning them off again in a little while."

She rolled her eyes. "How can you possibly be ready to go _again_?What are you, eighteen years old?"

He slipped an arm around her waist and nuzzled the curve of her neck, the stubble on his jaw tickling her skin. "You kind of make me feel that way," he intoned softly.

Giggling, she pushed him away with a playful shove. "Get those sardine lips away from me."

He fished several more sardines from the tin and made a showy production of eating them before he puckered his lips and leaned towards her face making exaggerated kissing sounds.

She squealed, turning her face and leaning away from him. "Quit it! Quit it!"

Rick laughed and finally relented, sitting up straight again. He couldn't remember ever spending such an enjoyable time with a woman. It all seemed so natural, so right.

Andrea reached over and smoothed back his hair affectionately. "Have your fun while you can, honey, because tomorrow we go back to the real world."

A cloud swept over his face, and she immediately regretted her words. He stared at her intently. "About that: what happens with… with this, with us, tomorrow?" He spoke quietly.

She looked away and busied herself with the unwrapping of a granola bar. "I don't want to talk about this now," she finally said. "Let's just enjoy the time we have together now, and see if we can't get… whatever this is out of our systems."

He furrowed his brow. "Goddamn it, you're back to that now?"

"Like I said, let's not talk about it right now."

He sighed. "Fine. But we're going to have to figure this out eventually."

There was a distinct undertone of sadness in the smile she gave him. "Wanna try the crackers?"

Realizing there would be no further discussion on the matter, he conceded with a lazy grin. "I was never much of a daredevil, but I'll give it a shot."

An easy conversation unfurled between them as they ate.


	16. Chapter 16

_Just a great big thank you to all you reviewers who keep sending me your kind words and constructive criticism. Some of you don't have private messaging enabled (I'm looking at YOU, Apothecary), or review as guests (nudge, nudge, Leela), so I can't always mesage you my gratitude, but know that it is very, very much appreciated. So to EbonyEyez, Apothecary, SuperNeos, Leela, Velvetemr, TrustinFaith, GBX, Lolly, Ashley, BeeCullen, Kenna, Limaro, VampireGaara, LillianMW, and the ultra-prolific Sandwich Shop Mayo, please know that I keep all your reviews in a special little email folder, and on days where I can't get geared up to write, I read all of your kind words and find my motivation. So a huge thanks to all of you - you guys are AWESOME! -C.A._

Rick was awakened by a repeated dull thud the next morning. He suspected someone was going at the tree in front of the door with an axe, and knew he and Andrea would have company soon. He sighed and looked down at her, curled against his body, asleep on his chest. He tenderly brushed a few strands of errant hair from her face, reluctant to wake her.

He cupped his hand against her cheek and ran his thumb across her lower lip, then leaned down and kissed her gently, knowing it would be one of his last opportunities to do so for the time being.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at him sleepily. "'Morning," she murmured with a yawn, stretching her arms above her head. Her body ached from the multiple times they'd come together the night before, and she was groggy from the lack of sleep.

"I think I hear them at the door," he informed her quietly. "Goddamn, I don't have a scrap of energy left in me."

She laughed, a low, tinkling sound. "Doesn't surprise me," she purred. "I lost count after about the fourth time."

They both begrudgingly rose from the bed – she wrapped herself in a sheet while he seemed content to walk around naked- and wordlessly searched out their discarded clothes. Rick retrieved their now-dry garments from the day before, and passed Andrea the ones belonging to her.

She knelt, searching under the bed, the sheet she clutched around her slipping tantalizingly low on her hips, baring her back.

"Looking for these?"

Tilting her face to him, she smirked at the torn pair of underwear dangling from his fingers. "Shit, I forgot about that. I'll have to go find a new pair."

He grinned. "Can you do it quick? There's so much of you showing right now that I'm kind of getting worked up again."

She rolled her eyes. "Not a scrap of energy left, huh?"

"Guess I was wrong."

Getting to her feet, Andrea cocked one eyebrow and faced him. She let the sheet she held around her fall to her feet and he groaned at the sight of her gloriously naked form. "God, you're so _mean_!" he wailed, feeling his body respond instantly. He stepped towards her, his desire obvious in his unclothed state. "Girl, you better _run_," he growled.

A high-pitched yelp escaped her lips, and she scampered off, disappearing into an aisle of clothing.

By the time she returned, wearing her outfit from the previous day, she found that he too was now fully dressed and sitting on the end of the rumpled bed. He was running his hands over his tousled hair in an effort to smooth it down.

With a sigh, she sat down heavily next to him, and he reached out and grabbed her hand. They sat together in bleak silence for several minutes, both full of thoughts neither had the courage to voice. At long last he looked at her, cocked his head. "Ready to go?"

She nodded, her expression glum.

They stood in unison and headed for the front door, hands linked. As they neared the exit, she dropped his hand, and he felt an immediate distance spring up between them, even before she moved physically away from him. He exhaled deeply, and faced reality.

"Daryl?" he called when he stood in front of the fallen tree.

"Yeah! I'm here with Glenn! We're gonna split this bitch in two and rig her up with a rope, see if we can't use the truck to pull'er out!"

"I'll see if I can find something in here and start on this side," Rick hollered back.

He left in the direction of the garden section, leaving Andrea waiting at the entrance.

Rick returned some time later with a shovel in hand. "Guess I'll give this a shot," he said, more to himself than to Andrea.

She stepped back and watched as he began to swing the shovel sideways at the trunk, bark flying as the tool began to slowly bite into its target. After nearly ten minutes of powerful blows, Rick was covered in sweat. He took his shirt off carelessly and tossed it on the floor. She tried not to stare as his muscles coiled and released with each arc of the shovel.

It took almost an hour, but at long last, sunlight began to seep through a crack in the tree. With one final blow, Daryl severed the tree in two and peeked through the tiny opening.

"Boy, am I glad to see your face," the redneck said with a lopsided grin. "Everything okay in there?"

Rick nodded, propping himself up with the shovel, breathing heavily. "Yeah, we're good." He wiped at the sweat on his forehead with the back of his arm.

A rope was tossed over one half of the trunk, and the three men worked to tie it as best they could around the massive tree. When they were satisfied that the knots would hold, Rick stepped back and retrieved his shirt, shrugging back into it as the roar of the truck's engine wafted into the store. The tree began to shake beneath the towing movement.

The Sheriff looked at the blonde woman next to him. With two long strides he was in front of her. "One more for the road," he murmured, and wound his arms around her before pressing a long kiss to her lips. She closed her eyes and tried to memorize the feel of his lips against hers, certain it was the last encounter of its kind that they would ever share.

When he eventually pulled back, her eyes were damp, and his heart ached. They heard a scraping noise, and jumped back from one another as one half of the tree trunk was slowly dragged away from the entrance. Inch by inch, more sunlight began to find its way into the store, and before long they were able to squeeze themselves through the narrow opening that grew between the two halves of the tree.

Andrea blinked into the daylight as her feet finally connected with the asphalt of the parking lot. The sky above them was a clear, vivid blue, showing no traces whatsoever of the maelstrom that had raged the night before. Glenn threw his arms around her with a welcoming hug; Daryl did the same after disembarking from the pickup truck. "Glad to have my hunting partner back in one piece," the redneck told her warmly.

Rick followed behind her, clapping his hand across Glenn's back and shaking Daryl's hand. "Thanks guys," he told them with obvious sincerity.

Glenn smiled and shrugged. "The group wasn't the same without you two."

"Did everyone come through the storm okay?" Andrea wanted to know.

Daryl nodded. "Fence'll have to be started again, and some shingles came off the roof, but other than that, everything's more or less fine."

Rick relaxed with relief. "You get the supplies back alright?"

"Some of the stuff got a little soggy, but yeah, we managed to get most of it back. Lori was thrilled with the bassinette," Glenn reported.

Rick frowned and looked at Andrea, not even sure what a bassinette was.

She watched his face closely as she said, "I saw it when we were scavenging last night. It's like a little cradle for the baby."

The Sheriff's face was unreadable. "Oh. Thanks," he said, looking at the ground.

Daryl scrutinized the rescued pair in front of him, and Andrea was suddenly very sure that he knew what was going on between them. She was grateful when the next words he spoke were, "Well, let's get the hell out of here, shall we?"

Rick bobbed his head, and he and Glenn reclaimed their seats from the previous day, while Andrea and Daryl climbed into the truck bed.

The wind blew Andrea's hair around her face as the truck began the trip back to the church. She stared out at the horizon.

Daryl studied the blonde woman next to him, curious about what had her so preoccupied. They hadn't gone very far when he cleared his throat. She turned to look at him. "Everything go okay in there last night?"

Andrea furrowed her brow, shifting uncomfortably under a gaze that struck her as far too perceptive. "Yup," she answered, trying to sound nonchalant.

The redneck narrowed his eyes. "You sure?" he asked carefully. "'Cause you're walking kinda funny."

She couldn't help the blush the crept up her cheeks. "Guess I pulled some muscles climbing out," she offered, then looked away.

"Hmm," he mused, clearly unconvinced.


	17. Chapter 17

A warm reception greeted Rick and Andrea when they arrived back at the church. Rick stepped out of the truck and saw his son running towards him at breakneck speed, squealing, "Dad!"

The child flung himself into his father's arms and hugged him fiercely. Rick returned the hug, squeezing tightly.

T-Dog stepped forward with a hug for Andrea, while Carol and Beth waited their turns. It struck Andrea as strange that a handful of survivors she'd been through hell with had become her family. Some small part of her insisted on reminding her that there was one survivor missing from the scene, one older man with a goofy hat who should have been there.

"Didja see that storm last night, Dad?" Carl babbled excitedly. "It was awesome! I've never seen so much lightning before!"

Rick chuckled and ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "I saw most of it, son, but I couldn't see a whole lot after the tree fell in front of us."

"Did the tree catch fire, Dad? Did it explode? Did you get to play with cool stuff in the store?"

"Don't bombard your father with questions, honey," Lori admonished gently, coming up behind Carl. Rick looked up at his wife and was surprised to find her smiling warmly at him. He was even more surprised when she wrapped her arms around him for a hug. "I'm glad you're okay," she murmured in his ear.

Caught off guard, Rick wasn't sure how to respond, but he hugged her back out of habit. "Me too," he ultimately replied, frowning. He snuck a glance at Andrea, and saw to his dismay that she was watching the embrace. He tried in vain to read her expression: was she sad? Angry? He couldn't tell.

His eyes followed her as she turned on her heel and headed for the church tower with T-Dog. Not wanting to intrude on the family reunion of Carl and his parents, the rest of the group dispersed rather quickly after expressing their happiness over Rick and Andrea's safe return. Most began making their way back to the rectory.

Lori stepped out of the hug and looked down at her son. "Carl, why don't you go see if Beth or Carol need help with anything? I need to talk to your father for a minute."

Carl looked for a moment as though he might protest. A stern look from his mother, however, sent him trudging away reluctantly.

Brow furrowed, Rick looked at his wife. "What is it, Lori?"

"When you didn't come home last night, I…" She paused, weighing her words carefully. "Look, maybe it was wrong of me to ask you to stay away from Carl."

Rick cocked one eyebrow. "_Maybe_?"

She sighed. "I stand by what I did, Rick; it seemed like the right choice at the time. I'm just saying that maybe now is the right time to let you back in."

He stared at her. "First of all," he ground out. "Asking me to stay away from _my_ son was never the right choice. Second of all, what the hell do you mean, you'll _let_ me back in? Am I just going to have to live the rest of my life with the threat of you taking Carl away from me whenever you get mad?"

"I didn't ask you to stay away from us because I was mad," she insisted stubbornly. "Rick, I'm trying to take the high road here. I thought you'd be grateful."

"The high road?" he said, his agitation growing. "So I'm on the low road, is that it? _You're_ doing _me_ a favour by letting me be with _my_ son?"

Lori looked taken aback by his uncharacteristic display of anger. "I'm not trying to pick a fight here, Rick."

"Coulda fooled me," he snorted.

"Rick, I-"

"What the hell happened to us, Lori?" he interjected, running his hand through his hair in his irritation. "Remember when we first got married? We lived in that crummy little house on Garwood Street, and I'd go to work everyday, and when I came home, you would kiss me and hug me, and I would feel like my life was better than anyone else's on the planet. You trusted me… you knew who I was. Hell, having you as my wife helped me to know who _I_ was. And yeah, we'd fight sometimes, but it was only ever about stupid things. I never questioned my worth as a human being, never felt like a bad person. But now…" He sighed, his irritation giving way to dismay. "I never would have thought that you could look at me and wonder if it was okay to let me be around Carl."

It was Lori's turn to be angry. "How dare you?" she snarled. "Don't you put this on me, Rick. You know what I remember about the way our marriage used to be? I remember that you cared more about your job than your family. I remember fighting to get your attention when you finally did come home from work. I remember all the nights I had to think of some excuse to give Carl when I'd put him in bed for the night, and he'd ask where his daddy was."

"Lori, I _never_ cared more about my job than my family, despite what you may think," Rick implored. "You knew goddamn well how demanding my job was when you married me."

"I guess I was stupid enough to think I could give you a reason to be at home more often. And nothing has changed, by the way. You're doing the same thing with you current job as leader of the group: you run off, and to hell with your family. Did you even think about us at all when you took off to find Hershel at the bar? When you went on your mission to find Merle Dixon?" Her voice sounded shrill, even to her own ears.

"I do what's right," he snapped. "I do what needs to be done to protect my family, same as I always have."

They stood glaring at one another for a moment, both breathing hard and unsure of what should come next. Lori ultimately opted to go on the attack. "Here's what it comes down to, Rick: y_ou're_ the one who killed Shane. I am not the bad guy here, goddamn it."

"And I am?"

She locked her gaze with his. "Like I said, you're the one who killed Shane."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "And you'll never believe that I did it to keep the group, including you and Carl, safe, will you?"

Her accusatory glare gave him his answer.

"You know what, Lori?" Rick seethed. "Until you can accept the truth about why I killed Shane, I don't see that we have a whole lot to talk about. But I will _not_ stay away from Carl – he is my son, and you have no right to keep him from his father."

He stormed off without looking back.

Lori opened her mouth to call after him, but was abruptly silenced by the clanging of the bell in the church tower.


	18. Chapter 18

Still fuming, Rick swivelled towards the sound of the metallic ringing piercing the air. He took off at a dead run in the direction of the church, while group members began spilling out of the rectory doors.

When he reached the foot of the tower and looked up, he saw the heads of T-Dog and Andrea poking out a window. "What is it?" he shouted at the pair above him.

"Walkers!" T-Dog hollered back. "Whole bunch of 'em! They must have followed the sound of the truck right to us!"

A tight knot formed in Rick's stomach, and his head reeled as he contemplated his options. He made a series of split-second decisions. "T-Dog, you get down here and let Andrea pick off as many as she can from up there."

The black man's head nodded before vanishing from the window. "You can do this," he called up to Andrea.

She signalled her understanding and he saw the rifle muzzle poke out a window seconds later. T-Dog rounded the corner of the tower at full tilt, and he and the Sheriff ran together towards the rectory.

Hershel, Daryl, and Glenn were already in front of the residence, all holding firearms. Daryl tucked his handgun into the waistband of his jeans and pulled back the bow on his crossbow, loading in an arrow. Glenn pressed a pistol into T-Dog's waiting hand as Rick's eyes fell on his son. "Carl, get inside!" he shouted, and the child immediately turned and disappeared into the building.

As the five men rushed towards the oncoming threat, Rick barked quick instructions, reminding them to use their limited ammo sparingly, or they'd quickly find themselves without any bullets at all. He flipped open his Python as he spoke, and was dismayed to find only four shells.

He heard gunfire in the distance. "Lori," he gasped with dread. The men shifted to breakneck speed. Several shots from the tower sailed over their heads.

The cluster of walkers soon came into view, and Rick felt sick as he watched Lori stumble frantically away from the lurching creatures behind her. Her foot hit a small divot in the earth and she went down hard; Rick yelled out her name.

Dazed, she tried to stand, but her ankle had clearly been fractured in the fall, and she immediately crumpled to the ground as a ravenous walker staggered towards her, rotting teeth bared. She shook her head to clear her stupor and flipped onto her back, then scrambled backwards, her movements clumsy and laboured as she tried to compensate for her injury. Rick lifted his gun as the walker lunged for his wife. She shrieked as the thing stooped to grab at her; it caught hold of one of her feet. The Sheriff's gun shook and he tried to steady his hand as his wife's head bobbed in and out of his line of sight. "Lori, lay on the ground!" he screamed frantically. "I can't get the shot!"

She hesitated and looked back at her husband; the walker took advantage of her distraction and lunged at her leg with its mouth. Suddenly, the beast's head exploded, fragments of skull and brain splattering over Lori. Rick looked back, and saw smoke trailing from the rifle muzzle in the tower. Making a mental note to thank Andrea later, he rushed towards his wife.

Scooping her up in his arms, his gaze raced up and down Lori's body, searching for any broken skin. "Are you okay? Are you okay?" he demanded, sounding borderline hysterical.

Lori groaned, in agony. "Ankle's busted, but no bites. I'll be okay."

A wave of relief washed over Rick and he ran towards the rectory with his wife in his arms, desperate to get her away from the danger. Overwhelmed by the pain, she blacked out halfway to the building. He didn't slow his gait until he had carefully deposited her on the couch just inside the rectory door. Stepping back, his face was a mask of fear as he smoothed his wife's hair from her forehead.

Carol appeared next to him and placed a hand gently on his back. "I've got this Rick," she soothed. "Go. They need you out there."

Dazed, he blinked back tears and shook his head, trying to refocus on the task at hand. "Okay…" he mumbled, backing away from the couch. "Okay. Ankle's broken… I… thanks, Carol," he finally managed.

Just as he set foot outside the door, a small voice behind him stilled his movements. "Dad!" he heard Carl yell, and he whirled to face his son.

"Carl, you stay here. Take care of Mom," Rick commanded, then noticed that his son was holding something.

The boy's hands were wrapped around a makeshift torch, formed using a two-by-four with a towel wrapped around the top. It reeked of lighter fluid, though Rick couldn't fathom where his son would have found the stuff. Carl shoved the implement towards his father. "Find something to light it. You can burn 'em up, like we did in the barn, remember?"

Rick was astonished by his son's genius. He slapped at his jean pockets and felt the lighter he'd used the night before to light candles in the store. "Carl, you are amazing," he declared.

His son offered a lop-sided grin in reply. "Go get 'em, Dad. I'll take care of Mom."

The Sheriff was struck, not for the first time, at how quickly his son was growing up. He stooped and gathered Carl in his arms for a quick hug, then took off running towards the melee on the other end of the church grounds.

The sound of bullets rang in his ears as he approached, and he fished the lighter out of his pocket and lit the torch as he raced forward. The towel caught fire immediately, burning hot and white, flickering wildly as it was buffeted by the air rushing past it as a result of Rick's rapid pace. Arrows flew from Daryl's crossbow one after the other, while Andrea's sharp-shooting felled walker after walker with incredible accuracy. Both Hershel and T-Dog had managed to isolate a pair of the monsters, and Rick watched both men sink knives into the skulls of their prey with near perfect unison. The torch blazed in his hand. "Watch out!" he shouted as he lunged forward. He managed to set four walkers clumped together on fire, and their inhuman screams filled the air as they writhed and twisted, their flesh searing off in rancid chunks as they flailed helplessly. Without stopping, he then raised his Python and sank a bullet dead center in the head of one walker, then another. He heard the crack of Andrea's rifle behind him, and watched as two more walkers hit the ground. An arrow whizzed by his ear; Hershel buried his knife to the hilt in the rotting face of a walker to his right. Glenn's scavenged machete sliced through the air and landed with a sickening thud in the scalp of yet another walker, splitting the thing's skull, the blade lodging in its brain. Adrenaline pumping, Rick waved his torch at the last pair of ghouls, and they were simply too stupid to back away. The tattered remains of clothing hanging from the emaciated body of one walking corpse caught fire and went up like dry tinder; it staggered into the final walker and the flames jumped from one beast to the other. All five men gasped for breath as they watched the two monsters smoulder, the fire incinerating the brains of the ungodly duo.

Tossing the torch on a pile of walkers, Rick leaned forward and braced himself with his hands on his knees, panting. "Everyone okay?" he rasped, looking at those around him.

Daryl stepped forward and began yanking arrows from the bodies of walkers. "Think so, boss."

Hershel, Glenn, and T-Dog all looked at one another. "Think we're all good here," Hershel confirmed. "Lori okay?"

His breathing returning to normal, Rick straightened slowly and nodded. "Yeah. Broken ankle though. Can you take a look at her?"

"Glad to," Hershel replied, offering the Sheriff what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "If that's our only injury, I'd say we made out pretty well, all things considered."

"I heard that," T-Dog said with a smirk.

Daryl jerked an arrow out of an eye socket and wiped it on his jeans. "We've really gotta get that fence built now."

"Agreed," Rick responded with a nod. "We'll get everyone on it. It's just too dangerous to leave ourselves so open like this."

"Man, that torch was a stroke of genius, Rick," Glenn marvelled.

The Sheriff grinned broadly. "You can thank Carl for that when you see him."


	19. Chapter 19

Rick paced anxiously in the living room as Hershel inspected Lori's ankle.

"Will you knock that off?" she said though gritted teeth. "You're making me antsy."

He stopped, offered her a conciliatory smile. "Sorry."

Hershel reached into his small, leather doctor's bag on the floor and produced a stethoscope. He gently pushed Lori's shirt up and placed the implement's small metal circle on her stomach, which had begun to protrude ever so slightly. He fitted the stethoscope's two small buttons into his ears and listened intently as Rick held his breath.

Carl was seated sideways in an easy chair, his legs dangling over the arm. "Don't worry, Dad. Mom's real tough."

His father sighed. "I know she is, son. I'm just being a Nervous Nellie."

After what felt like an eternity to the anxious parents, Hershel finally stood with some effort. "The baby sounds fine," he said, and Rick and Lori blew out twin breaths of relief. "Heartbeat sounds steady and strong. But the ankle's broken alright." He looked down apologetically at his patient. "We'll have to set it and make some kind of splint; it's gonna hurt like hell when we do it."

She took several deep breaths. "I'll manage."

The two men in the room looked sceptical.

"Hey, I've been through childbirth. Can't be worse than that," she declared.

Rick grinned. "You had drugs for that, honey. We've don't have anything like that around here."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, you're a _real_ comfort, Rick," she said sourly.

He chuckled. "Sorry."

"Be a lot easier to do this in a bed," Hershel told the Sheriff.

Rick nodded and leaned down, carefully lifting his wife into his arms. She winced and wound her arms around his neck. "Easy," he murmured to her as she looked up at him; he couldn't recall the last time he'd seen such blind trust in her eyes. He turned back to his son. "Carl, go see if you can round up some towels, and dunk them in the coldest water you can find. I'm taking mom upstairs, so you can meet us in the bedroom."

Carl unfolded himself from the chair, a determined set to his jaw that made him look very much like his father. He left quickly, and Rick began slowly moving towards the stairs, holding Lori as though she were made of glass.

Several hall closets were thrown open and slammed shut as Carl rifled through each one. When he finally located the towels, he selected a few and went outside, on the hunt for water. He found several jugs full of boiled drinking water, but their narrow necks had him puzzling how to get the towels wet without wasting water. "What're you looking for, kiddo?" said a voice behind him.

In mid-thought, the boy looked over his shoulder to see Andrea coming across the church grounds. He greeted her with a benevolent smile. "The coldest water I can find," he chirped.

"Why do you need cold water?" she asked when she stood next to him. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

He frowned. "It's not for me, it's for my mom. Hershel's gotta fix her ankle, and…" He paused, suddenly realizing that he had no idea what role cold water could possibly play in the process. "… and I guess Dad thinks it will help?"

"Ah," she said with understanding. "I'll bet it's to numb your mom's ankle so it won't hurt so much when Hershel fixes it."

"Oh, that makes sense," Carl said, looking up at her.

"I think the rain barrels would probably have the coldest water, especially in this weather. Come on, I'll show you," she volunteered, enfolding his small hand in hers and leading him around to the back of the rectory. They came upon several barrels, all filled nearly to the brim. "Guess something good came out of that storm last night," she observed. _That's not the only good thing that came out of the storm,_ a voice inside her insisted; she shook her head to brush the thought away.

The boy chose a barrel and poked a finger into its contents. "Yipes, that _is_ cold!" he blurted. He began submerging towels one by one, handing off the soggy terry cloths to Andrea as he worked. When the last towel had been placed in her arms, he looked up. "Think this is enough?"

She shivered dramatically, handing the stack of towels to him. "Yep, this'll do it, little man."

"Thanks, Andrea!" She watched as his diminutive form rushed back into the house.

Carl found his father sitting on his mother's bed as he entered the room. Lori was laying down, her face pale. "Here you go," he said, feeling very accomplished as he handed his find over to his father.

Rick smiled and squeezed his son's shoulder as he took hold of the sopping mass. "Good job, Carl."

Lori opened her eyes and managed a smile. "Thank you, baby," she murmured to the boy.

Carl nodded. "You gonna freeze Mom's ankle?" he asked his father.

The Sheriff grinned. "Actually, yeah, that's kind of the plan."

"Be better if I could just get drunk," Lori grumbled, looking poignantly at her belly. "All that wine in the pantry could really help a girl out."

Carl frowned and looked at his mother. "I don't know how you can drink that stuff, Mom. It tastes awful."

She closed her eyes and smiled. "You get used to it."

"Blech," said the child, sticking out his tongue.

Chuckling, Rick said, "Why don't you go find something to do, kiddo? Your Mom tends to swear a lot when she's in pain. You can come back in a little while."

Carl looked impressed. "Really? I've never heard Mom swear! Can't I stay?"

Lori tried to look stern, though she couldn't help grinning. "Nope. Off you go."

"Nuts," grumbled Carl before disappearing into the hall.

She turned her gaze to Rick. "Thanks for that. I don't want him to see me in pain, and I'm pretty sure this is going to hurt like a bitch."

Her husband nodded. "My thoughts exactly." He began carefully wrapping Lori's ankle in the wet towels. "You know," he said as he worked. "It's probably for the best that you can't get drunk. I'd just wind up holding your hair back while you barf."

She rolled her eyes. "When have you _ever_ had to do that?"

His eyes danced mischievously. "I remember a certain friends' wedding where that was my job for almost the whole night."

Lori blushed slightly. "Oh yeah," she said. "Gina and Dave's wedding. Jesus, I'd forgotten all about that."

"I'm surprised you remember that night at _all_," he teased.

"Oh shut up." She balled her hands into fists, squeezing them tightly as a dull ache from the cold seeped through her ankle. "It would serve you right, though. You got walker bits all over my favourite shirt when you killed that thing trying to bite me." Her eyes sparkled, her needling gentle.

Rick's face quickly sobered. "It wasn't me who saved your life," he told her, his tone serious. "It was Andrea, up in the tower."

"Well, I'll be damned," Lori said, looking surprised. "Back at the farm, I told her that I thought she only took watch so she could get out of laundry duty and work on her tan. Guess I owe her an apology."

Rick nodded, faintly miffed to hear that his wife would have hurled such an accusation at Andrea. "Guess you do."

Hershel poked his head in the door. "You two ready yet?"

Lori looked at her ankle. "Can you give me fifteen minutes maybe? I want to be good and frozen when we do this."

The older man nodded. "Sure," he replied. "I'll go grab Beth and get my things ready."


	20. Chapter 20

"How come you're not married?"

Staring at the mirror-smooth surface of the lake, Andrea lifted her head and

looked over at the boy sitting next to her on the raft.

He'd found her devouring a tin of baked beans in the rectory kitchen a little over an hour ago, and filled her in about the goings-on upstairs. She'd worried that if the resetting of the ankle led to Lori loudly vocalizing her pain, the sounds might be heard in the kitchen, and she knew the poor kid didn't need to hear his mother hurting. To get him out of the house, she'd invited Carl to come with her for a little fishing.

The crystal blue eyes now watching her expectantly were so much like his father's that Andrea's breathing hitched slightly. His expression was one of such childish innocence though, she couldn't help but smile. "Guess I never found the right man," she offered with a shrug.

"But you're so pretty," he said with genuine confusion.

She laughed. "Carl, you are such a sweetheart. If you were just a little older, I might even think about marrying _you_."

The boy actually blushed. "Eww. Girls have cooties," he responded, his nose wrinkling.

"I bet you won't feel that way in a couple of years," she assured him, reaching out to give his hair a tousle.

"Bet I will." He looked down at his fishing pole, thinking hard. After a time, he shifted his gaze back to her. "What makes a man the right man to marry?"

She grinned and looked back at her fishing line bobbing gently on the water. "Lots of things, I guess."

"Like what?" he asked with a frown.

"Hmm…" She mulled the question over. "Well… the right man is honest, I guess," she started. "And brave. And kind. And knows how to be a good father."

Carl considered this for a moment. "Like Dad?"

Her heart raced, and she reminded herself that the boy's question was completely without guile. Her cheeks grew red just the same. She cleared her throat and tried to sound unaffected. "Sure, I guess. Or like my dad."

"What happened to your dad?"

She sighed. "I don't know. Amy and I were on a road trip together when the walkers started showing up, and we never managed to get in touch with him."

"So he could be alive?" Carl asked with an optimism reserved only for children.

Andrea was grateful Rick's son hadn't lost the ability to hope. "He could be." His fishing line snapped taught, and the twine disappeared beneath the water for a minute. "I think you've got something," she told him, gesturing towards the water with her chin.

His eyes flew back to the lake, and he tugged hard. With a little struggle, the surface of the water broke and a sunfish emerged amidst a white froth of splashing. It flopped wildly and bucked on the line in an effort to free itself, its iridescent scales a rainbow of color in the late afternoon sun. She watched the boy furrow his brow in concentration, and she felt an unexpected twinge of pride when the fish finally lay wriggling on the wooden surface of the raft. "Boy, you've gotten really good at this," she praised Carl.

His crooked grin was amazingly endearing. "I know, right? It's so cool that I can help feed the group now."

Andrea giggled at his lack of modesty. "It sure is."

Swiftly and deftly, he eagerly unhooked his line from the now motionless fish and cast his line back into the water. The twine was just settling on the water when he asked, "You were Amy's big sister, right?"

She smiled sadly. "Yes."

"Well I'm gonna be a big brother," Carl boasted proudly, his chest puffing up.

"I know."

"So, um…" He fidgeted with his makeshift fishing pole. "How do I make sure I'm a good big brother?"

Andrea felt an immense flood of warmth wash over her, deeply touched by the boy's concerns. "Oh sweetheart," she soothed, putting her am around his shoulders and giving him a squeeze. "You are going to be an incredible big brother."

He looked up at her and frowned. "How do you know?" he asked. "I've never been a big brother before."

She sighed. "Because you're so much like your father," she told him firmly. "You take care of other people, and you know right from wrong. You've got such a good heart, and that is the best thing a big brother can have." Overcome, she leaned in and pressed a little kiss to Carl's cheek.

When she pulled back from him, he rubbed vigorously at the place where her lips had been. "Ew," he said, but his broad smile told her that he hadn't minded the kiss one bit. She laughed.

Several catches later, Andrea eyed the fruits of their labour and saw that there were plenty of fish to sustain the group for the evening. "Ready to go check on your Mom?" she asked Carl, squinting into the sun.

He hesitated for a moment, loathe to leave his new favourite pastime. Ultimately he pulled in his line and nodded. "Sure, I guess so."

She passed her pole to him, and he meticulously arranged both homemade fishing rods on the raft, then picked up a paddle and joined her in rowing to shore.


	21. Chapter 21

Hershel leaned back and wiped at the sweat beading on his forehead, surveying his handiwork. Lori's ankle had begun to swell and purple, but it was wrapped soundly with duct tape scrounged from the Wal-Mart, and stabilized with several short shims of wood. "Okay," he said, satisfied with the job he'd done. "Sorry about the pain, Lori, but it should heal nicely now."

"S'okay," she slurred, trying to recover from the shock to her system. "It wasn't… it wasn't so bad."

Hershel looked at Rick standing next to the bed, and was glad to see some colour had returned to the Sheriff's face. Lori had a death grip on her husband's hand, as she had throughout the procedure. "Make sure she keeps that foot elevated," the older man instructed, then turned back to his patient. "I'll leave you to your husband then, Lori."

She struggled to offer the doctor a grin. "I can't thank you enough, Hershel. I don't know what we'd do without you," she said quietly, her head lolling in her husband's direction.

"Yup," he concurred. He reached out and shook Hershel's hand. "Thanks, Doc."

Gathering his leather bag, Hershel gazed with residual anxiety at Lori, then looked back at Rick and quietly said, "make sure she gets some sleep."

"I'll do my best," Rick assured him, and the older man turned and left, Beth trailing behind him.

He strode to the room's one window and stared out, flexing his hand sore hand in an effort to restore feeling to it. He couldn't stop thinking about the previous night with Andrea. Even now, when he knew he should be tending to his wife, he couldn't shake the image of the blonde woman from his head, was sure he could smell her on his clothes. He had never in his life experienced anything as explosive as their time in the store, and somewhere within himself he knew that he felt a lot more for her than simple lust He had never felt drawn to anyone, even Lori, in the way that he was drawn to Andrea. In his mind, he was already trying to figure out the logistics of how he could get her alone again.

"Rick?" Lori's frail voice shook him from his reverie.

He moved to stand next to her. "Can I get you something?"

She shook her head. "No. Can you just sit with me for a while?"

"Sure," he offered with a sympathetic grin. He positioned himself next to her on the bed, and she reached out and reclaimed his hand, her grip much gentler now.

"You're awfully quiet. What's going on in that head of yours?" she asked pointedly.

"Nothing really," he hedged, knowing that telling the truth was impossible.

She rolled her eyes. "You're lying. Why can't you ever just say what's on your mind?"

He stiffened. "Don't start," he warned softly. "I don't want to fight with you. You and the baby need rest right now."

"Damn it, that is such a cop-out, Rick," she muttered with agitation.

"Lori, please," he pleaded.

She scrutinized her husband carefully. Exhausted from her ordeal, she decided she didn't have the energy to engage in the well-trod argument at the moment. "You're right," she eventually admitted begrudgingly. "We can take this up later." By way of apology she reached one hand behind his neck and applied gentle pressure to bring his face closer to hers. She sat up slightly and pressed a kiss to his lips, and Rick was too surprised to pull away.

"Yuck," a small voice said from the doorway.

Husband and wife turned their heads in unison and found Carl and Andrea watching them.

"What do you mean, 'yuck'?" Lori said to her son with a little smile. Had she glanced back at Rick's face as she spoke, she would have been surprised to see a look of horror on his face.

The Sheriff's heart sank at the crushed look in Andrea's eyes.

"I, um…" the blonde stammered, not knowing where to look. "Ill leave you three alone then," she finally managed, moving to leave.

"Andrea, wait." Lori's voice stopped her cold. The blonde woman's heart fluttered violently: did Lori know? Had Rick told his wife the truth? She rotated slowly; her eyes found Rick's, and he gave her an almost imperceptible shrug. She adopted what she hoped was a calm demeanour and waited for Lori to continue.

"Can you come here a minute?" The redhead asked.

Hesitantly, Andrea did as requested. She ventured another peek at Rick from beneath her lashes, and saw that he looked as nervous as she felt.

Lori reached out and took Andrea's hand. "Rick tells me it was your bullet that saved my life," she began. "I just wanted to say thank you."

Andrea's shoulders sagged with relief, and she heard Rick sigh under his breath. Before she could respond, Carl cut her off.

"You hit a walker from all the way up in the tower?" he asked incredulously. "How did you do that?"

Glad for the interruption, Andrea smiled at the boy. "Lots of practice, little man."

"Can you teach me how to do that?" Carl asked enthusiastically.

Andrea's lips tugged upwards at the corners. "Maybe some day, kiddo."

Carl looked thrilled. "Cool!"

The blonde woman turned back to Lori. "So… I should go," she mumbled, uncomfortable under the continued grateful gaze of Rick's wife.

"Alright," Lori said nodding. "And thank you again."

Andrea couldn't get out of the bedroom fast enough.

Carl clambered onto the bed, careful not to jar his mother. The boy began chattering excitedly about his fishing expedition.

Rick longed to run after Andrea, to explain to her what it was that she'd witnessed, but he could think of no excuse to do so that would make sense to his wife and son. Instead he simply sighed and listed to Carl's animated report about his excursion to the lake. Lori listened indulgently until her eyelids grew heavy as she struggled to stay awake.

"Alright son," Rick finally intervened. "Your mom needs some rest now. Let's you and me go find something to eat and come back later."

Carl's face registered disappointment, but he nevertheless slid off the bed, gave his mother a quick hug, and followed his father from the room.

After a quick stop in the kitchen to scare up a bite to eat, the pair walked out the rectory door together. Rick scanned his surroundings, desperate to find Andrea but coming up empty. Carl wanted to show his dad the fish he'd caught, and Rick was happy to oblige his son, hoping that perhaps he might find the woman he was looking for around the campfire where the fish were undoubtedly being cleaned and cooked.

An area had been cleared a short distance from the rectory and a circle of rocks marked out the fire pit; several logs had been dragged over to provide seating. Walking towards the plumes of smoke, Rick came upon Beth and Carol sitting around the crackling flames, but was dismayed to discover that Andrea wasn't with them. Carl eagerly plunked himself onto a log next to Carol, asking the two women if he could help with the meal preparations; the women eagerly welcomed the offer. "Is Lori sleeping now?" Beth asked, turning her attention to Rick.

"Yeah, thanks. I'm hoping she sleeps through as much of the pain as she can."

Beth nodded and began gutting one of the fish as Carl studied her actions closely.

Struggling to keep his voice even, the Sheriff cleared his throat and asked, "Either of you seen Andrea?"

"Not recently," Carol replied. "I think she said something about going for a walk?"

Rick sighed. "Guess I'll have to talk to her later then. Do you two mind watching Carl for a while?"

Beth grinned. "Not at all. Besides, if we can teach him how to do this, Carol and I might get a break from the cooking for a while." She looked at the boy next to her and winked.

Rick smiled wanly. "Thanks," he said, and headed off in the direction of the church.


	22. Chapter 22

_Apologies for the delay on these new chapters. The adaptor on my modem apparently decided it was done with life, and it "opted out" (wink, wink, nudge, nudge). My thanks again for all your amazing feedback and reviews!_

With Lori laid up in her bedroom, Rick was more than happy to fill the seat next to Carl at the dinner table, glad to eat with the group instead of alone in the church tower. After seeing no sign of Andrea all afternoon, he was also hoping he might reconnect with her at the dinner table.

As such, his heartbeat sped up when the blonde woman entered the rectory kitchen to join the group that evening.

Unfortunately, she froze mid-step the second her eyes fell on Rick. The cold look she gave him had him squirming under her gaze.

"Who's in the tower?" she asked woodenly, forgoing all pleasantries.

"T-Dog. He volunteered." He offered her a smile, which she did not return.

"I'll go relieve him. I'm a better shot than him anyway." Her tone was flat, her eyes daring him to argue.

Rick opened his mouth to object, but the stubborn set to her jaw told him it would be a waste of time.

She turned sharply away and exited the way she had entered.

The rest of the meal was a pleasant affair, though Rick had some difficulty enjoying it, itching to go find Andrea for a conversation. Carl was clearly thrilled to have his father finally joining the group for dinner, and if he had any sense of Rick's impatience, he didn't show it.

By the time the Sheriff put Carl to bed and checked on Lori, his need to find Andrea had become so intense, he felt like the world might stop turning if he didn't suss her out immediately. He couldn't stand the idea of Andrea brooding in the tower with only the image of he and Lori's kiss to keep her company.

He practically ran from the rectory to the church, and bounded up the tower stairs two at a time.

He was trying to catch his breath when he stumbled into the bell tower. To his chagrin, he did not find Andrea in front of him, but T-Dog.

The black man turned and looked expectantly at Rick. "Looking for Andrea?" he asked knowingly.

Rick nodded, gulping in air.

"You just missed her. I relieved her about ten minutes ago."

"Damn it," Rick muttered. "Did she say where she was going?"

"I think she was going to bed," T-Dog informed him. "She did have kind of a long day."

The Sheriff sighed, looking thoroughly frustrated.

"Everything okay?" T-Dog asked.

Rick looked down at the floor, absently rubbing his stubbled jaw. "Probably not."

"Anything I can do?"

Lifting his head back to T-Dog, Rick closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I have really fucked things up," he said.

T-Dog didn't respond, merely nodded his head and waited for the other man to continue.

"I just… I couldn't stop myself. No matter how many times I told myself that I was married, that I took vows with Lori, that I couldn't risk hurting her and Carl…" Rick paused, his posture one of defeat. He exhaled deeply before carrying on. "There's this… thing between us, and it just feels so right."

T-Dog's eyes were sympathetic, but his tone was firm. "Look, that may be the case, but you've gotta man up and be honest here. It's not right to string either of them along."

"That was never my intention," Rick said hurriedly. "But what the hell do I do? I've got a wife who's mad at me most of the time, and a son depending on his parents to make the best choices for him. I could tell Lori it's over, but Carl would hate me. I could sneak around with Andrea, but then she'll get hurt instead of Lori." He stared out the window at an invisible point on the horizon. "And suppose I do call things off with Lori – what then? I start a relationship with Andrea while my ex-wife and son watch?"

T-Dog didn't envy the man: he looked so haggard and beaten down. "Sounds like the simplest plan would be for you to just quit Andrea cold turkey and stay with Lori."

Rick's shoulders slumped. "I know," he said quietly. "And honest to God, I've tried. But she just… I'm miserable without her."

"Are you in love with her?"

T-Dog's question struck Rick like a blow to the gut, the words echoing in his head. _Am I? _he asked himself. He'd fought against even thinking about the possibility, afraid of what the answer might mean for him. "I don't know," he eventually admitted. "Maybe."

"Hmm." T-Dog thought for a minute, then said, "I guess sometimes being a father means making tough choices."

It was a thought that Rick himself had considered numerous times in thinking about his feelings for Andrea. "I know."

"You know, my father left my mother for another woman when I was about five," T-Dog said.

"I'm sorry," came Rick's automatic response.

T-Dog shook his head. "Don't be. He's been married to that other woman for going on thirty years now."

Rick's features registered surprised. "Yeah, but I'm sure it sucked for you as a kid."

"Sure it did," the black man confirmed. "But I got over it. I liked seeing my dad happy a lot more than I liked seeing him fight with my mom."

The words coaxed the tiniest smile from Rick. Maybe it was possible for him to be a good father without denying himself the woman who had lately become the center of his world. He reached out and squeezed the other man's shoulder. "Thanks, T-Dog," he said with clear sincerity.

T-Dog nodded. "If you're not ready to talk to Lori about this, you should at least talk things out with Andrea."

"Yeah, that's next on my to-do list," Rick sighed. "But she's been avoiding me like the plague all afternoon."

"Guess you'll just have to sneak up on her," T-Dog suggested with a grin.

The Sheriff returned the smile. "That's not a bad idea."


	23. Chapter 23

Andrea was jolted awake when a hand slipped over her mouth in the darkness of the bedroom. Her eyes flew open, her muscles coiled in anticipation of a struggle. A familiar voice whispered in her ear, "Either you come with me right now, or I'm going to wake up Carol and let _you_ explain to her why I'm in your bedroom."

Panic was instantly replaced by anger. Even in the pitch black of the room, Andrea could just make out Rick's face hovering over her. She glanced over at Carol sleeping on the other side of the mattress.

The angry slant of her eyebrows told Rick that she was less than happy with his little stunt. Realizing she had no choice, Andrea struggled groggily from the bed, and quietly tiptoed with Rick out of the room.

The second they stepped out of the rectory, Andrea whirled on him, eyes blazing. "What the _fuck_, Rick?" she seethed.

He kept his tone even in an effort to bring calm to the situation. "I'm sorry, darling, but I couldn't think of any other way to get you to talk to me."

"Talk to you about what?" she spat. "About what a big man you are, screwing two women at once?"

He sighed. "I am not screwing Lori. We haven't had sex in _months_."

The revelation seemed to diffuse Andrea's rage, though only minimally. "Then what the hell did I walk in on earlier?"

"She had just come through a major medical procedure without anaesthetic. I was just trying to support her." He raked his fingers through his dark hair.

"By making out with her?" she snorted.

Rick exhaled with frustration. "For God's sake, Andrea, we weren't 'making out'. She gave me a little kiss to apologize for picking a fight with me. Trust me, it surprised the hell out of me."

She crossed her arms and gazed out into the night. "You know what?" she eventually asked with a sigh. "You don't owe me an explanation. She's your wife and you were just doing what a husband is supposed to do. I knew goddamned well that last night was a one-time thing, and rightfully so. I just need to move on, end of discussion."

"Andrea, last night-" he began, but she cut him off.

"Last night was a mistake," she snapped. "It never should have happened."

"That is _not_ what I was going to say," he said gruffly. "Last night was…" He paused, searching for the right words. "… it was incredible. I've never experienced anything like it." He reached out to cup her cheek, but she jerked her head away from his hand.

"Stop it, Rick," she growled.

"Andrea please," he beseeched her, his voice soft. "I can't lose you. I… I need you."

She felt her resolve weakening and went on the offensive. "You can't have me. You have a wife, and I don't want to be your mistress on the side."

His face fell. "I don't want you to be that either," he said firmly. "But what do we do? Tell me what to do, Andrea." He took a step towards her.

His expression was so sad and dejected that Andrea was tempted to reach out to him. Instead, she drew herself up straight and gave him a withering stare. "'_We_' don't do anything," she said with a scowl. "We stay away from each other, and we move on separately."

"No," he responded flatly.

"'_No_'?" she shot back incredulously. "Rick, that wasn't a question."

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I can't. I can't stay away from you, and I refuse to move on without you."

"You don't have a choice!" she cried. "Why can't you get it through you thick skull that you're _married_, and that makes… whatever the hell this is, wrong?"

His lips covered hers so quickly that she didn't have time to pull away. And then just as quickly, she couldn't bring herself to pull away. He engulfed her in his arms and pulled her flush with his body. His kiss was searching, claiming. His tongue parried and thrust with hers, and a chill that had nothing to do with the weather rippled through her.

He nipped at her lower lip, then pulled back, leaning his forehead against hers, his eyes closed. "That's why we can't move on," he murmured. "What I feel when I'm with you… it's not _wrong_."

Andrea pushed against his chest and took a step backwards. He slowly opened his eyes and met her gaze, saw that her face was a jumble of confusion. She felt shaken by the depth of feeling he could evoke in her with a mere kiss. "God damn you, Rick," she whispered. "Why do you have to make this so hard for me?"

He immediately looked contrite. "I wasn't…" He rubbed his jaw, feeling lost. "I just needed you to see…" He tried and failed to come up with an adequate explanation for his actions.

His heart sank when he saw that she was on the verge of tears. "I get it, you idiot," she told him angrily. "These feelings… I feel them too. I don't need convincing." She raised one hand and rubbed at her temples with her thumb and forefinger, shielding her eyes. "But what we feel for each other doesn't matter, and you don't seem to get that."

Rick lifted his hands, palms turned skyward in a helpless gesture. "How can it not matter? Don't stand there and tell me that the most intense feelings I've ever known don't matter."

A tear slipped from her eye, and he yearned to brush it away. "They don't matter because you're fucking _married_," she ground out, feeling like a broken record. "Maybe we can't control these feelings, but we can control how we act on them."

"And how do you propose we act on them?" he asked, dreading the answer but needing to know.

"We stay the hell away from each other," she told him, her voice cracking slightly as she fought back more tears. "You stay the hell away from me, and I'll stay the hell away from you."

Rick frowned and opened his mouth to argue, but she stopped him cold.

"Rick, I'm begging you, please. It just hurts too much. Please," she repeated. "Just leave me alone, and let this go."

His own eyes grew moist at the desperation in her voice. "That's really what you want?" he asked.

She nodded.

He stood looking at her for a long time. "Okay," he finally said in a half-whisper. "Okay."

Andrea sighed. "Thank you," she offered, nearly inaudible.

An overwhelming ache grew in his chest as he watched her walk away into the night.


	24. Chapter 24

The week following his late-night conversation with Andrea was torture for Rick. Her presence was a constant reminder of sacrifice, of loss. She kept her distance from him whenever possible, but it did little to quell the desires raging within him. He joined the group in their renewed efforts to reconstruct the fence, seeking any distraction he could.

For her part, Andrea continued to spend the mornings hunting with Daryl, her skill improving at an impressive rate. Carl became her constant companion in the afternoons, joining her on fishing trips or working on the fence right next to her. The loss of Shane had left the boy in dire need of friendship, and Andrea was more than happy to step into the role.

Dark circles developed beneath her eyes as she tried to deal with a growing insomnia. Every time she closed her eyes, she could think of nothing but Rick, their night together in the store playing over and over in her head, like a film stuck on repeat. By week's end, she found herself becoming increasingly clumsy and careless, her sleep-deprived brain functioning at a greatly diminished capacity. When she worked on the fence, swinging a hammer became a sort of Russian roulette, her thumbs and fingers bruising and purpling alarmingly as she became increasingly incapable of hitting nails on the head. With each blow to a digit, Carl's knowledge of swear words increased, and Andrea could only pray that he didn't try out his new vocabulary around his parents.

On her seventh night of little to no sleep, Andrea's frustration with her brain's inability to power down had reached a fever pitch. She tossed and turned in her bed for two hours before sitting up in the darkness. She glanced with envy at Carol slumbering next to her, and struggled to remember what a good night's sleep even felt like. At her wit's end, she decided that perhaps a little fresh air might help: just the sight of her bed was annoying her.

Feeling her way in the dark, she slipped on a pair of swear pants and rummaged quietly in a dresser drawer. Her fingers closed around the small square package of cigarettes she'd found in Dale's R.V. months ago. She knew they'd be stale, but couldn't muster the energy to care. It had been years since she'd smoked, but to the best of her recollection, cigarettes had always had a calming effect on her, and she was so desperate for sleep that she was ready to try anything.

She welcomed the feel of the cool night air when she stepped out the back door of the rectory. Exhausted, she leaned against the brick exterior of the building and dug in her pockets for a book of matches. She sparked her cigarette to life and inhaled deeply. Smoke filled her lungs and she found it inexplicably soothing. As she smoked, she struggled to come up with a way to cure her insomnia. Her lack of sleep had her emotions hovering on a hair trigger, and whenever she was on watch in the tower, she had to struggle to keep the rifle steady, so tired that her muscles no longer had the strength to hold the gun steady. She knew that if she didn't get some sleep and soon, she'd wind up doing damage to either herself or the group, or in all likelihood, both.

It didn't take a genius to recognize that the catalyst for her insomnia had been her decision to stay away from Rick. All week long, from sun up to sundown, had been a constant fight againt her primal desires. She felt like an empty vessel that had slowly been filling up with tension as the week had progressed, and the vessel was now threatening to overflow. She knew she needed release, needed to empty that vessel. _What you need is Rick_, a voice inside her said.

As if on cue, a voice beside her said, "What the hell are you doing out here all alone?"

She turned to find Rick staring at her, his brow furrowed. She shifted her gaze away from him quickly and instead focused on the moon, stark and white in the night sky. "Can't sleep," she grumbled. "Why are you out here?"

He allowed his eyes to travel up and down her form, the baggy sweat pants doing little to hide her curves. "Daryl just came to relieve me on watch. I was going to try for a little sleep."

Andrea snorted. "In the bedroom with your _wife_?"

He sighed. "I've been sleeping on the floor; she and Carl take the bed. I just like to be there when he wakes up."

She turned and surveyed him carefully, and decided he seemed to be telling the truth. "Huh," she said. She took a long drag on her cigarette.

"Since when do you smoke?" he asked. "And more importantly, where'd you get 'em?"

"Since I haven't been able to sleep for a week," she shot back, staring at the burning, white paper cylinder like it held answers. "I found a pack in the R.V."

He leaned against the wall next to her, crossing his legs at the ankle. "Why can't you sleep?" he asked, looking up at the riot of stars above them.

"Guess," she snapped, closing her eyes and leaning her head against the wall.

"You too, huh?" he said, looking at her with a grin.

Her eyes opened and she swung her gaze to him. She immediately regretted the action: he was too handsome, standing there with the moonlight filtering over him, his blue eyes lit by the stars, his tall, slim form aloof against the wall. She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

He rubbed at his jaw. "Haven't been sleeping very well since… well, since the Wal-Mart," he said, choosing his words carefully. "I'm so tired, I can hardly keep my eyes open up in that tower."

She sighed. "Me neither," she confessed. "I'm having a hard time keeping the rifle steady up there."

"Me too."

Their eyes met across the darkness, and they stared at one another for a time.

When Rick spoke again, there was a husky undertone in his voice. "You realize there's a simple solution to this," he hedged, the hint of a smile playing about his lips.

"I know."

"And with both of us exhausted, we're putting the whole group in danger."

"I know that too." Her voice was quiet, her tone even.

"If we could just…"

His words died on his lips as Andrea flicked her cigarette into a swath of tall grass and whirled on him. Grabbing his face between her hands she crushed her lips to his, pushing her body against him. Her kiss was ravenous, full of desperate need.

His arms wound around her automatically; his fingers tugged a hair tie from her hair and the glorious waves of her mane tumbled down around her shoulders. He opened his mouth wide, feeling her tongue plunge into it and taste him. He used his own tongue to push against hers, delving into her in a pantomime of what his body screamed for him to do with hers.

His taste, his lips, and his tongue all combined to form a heady aphrodisiac for Andrea as the little hairs on her body stood on end. She held herself tightly to him, grinding her hips against the hard ridge beneath his jeans. He groaned as she tore open his shirt, sending buttons flying in every direction.

Breathing heavily, he shrugged out of his shirt, then helped her in pushing her own shirt up and over her head. She wore no bra, and he gasped at the sight of her bare breasts. He lower his head to them as she clawed at his belt, and a low moan escaped her lips as he ministered to her breasts with his mouth and tongue. Once she had his jeans open, she slipped her hands into his underwear and took hold of his erection, stroking it as her breathing grew ragged.

He revelled in her touch briefly, then released the dusky peak of one of her breasts from his lips. He took hold of her hands with one of his own to still their tantalizing movements, and used his free hand to slide his jeans and boxer-briefs to the ground before stepping out of them.

Drinking in the sight of his naked body, quivering with anticipation, Andrea pressed her breasts to his chest, rubbing against him as the fine hairs covering his upper body tickled and teased her nipples. He slid his hands between their bodies and pushed her sweat pants off her hips, letting them fall to her ankles. His reached into her underwear, and he found her wet with anticipation. His skilled fingers parted her folds and slipped inside of her; he watched her face as she released a small cry. She threw her head backwards with a moan, the silvery light of the moon bathing her beautiful features. "Open your eyes, sweetheart," he murmured. "Let me watch you."

When she did as he asked, the heat in her eyes nearly overwhelmed him. He pulled his fingers from her, and she wriggled out of her underwear. His hands encircled her waist and he lifted her off the ground. She instinctively wrapped her legs around him and braced herself against his shoulders.

His hands slipped around to her backside, and he deliberately held her so that she hovered just inches above his engorged member, providing a delicious torment for her. "Rick, please…" she begged, staring into the depths of his eyes. "I need you… inside me."

It was too much for him. He lowered her onto him, pushing himself deep within her. Clutching his head, she began to move up and down. He brought his mouth to hers, their thrusting tongues matching the rhythm set by their connected bodies. Sweat beaded on Rick's forehead as he struggled for control, needing to bring her pleasure before he indulged in his own.

She pulled her lips from his, gasping for breath. "Jesus, Rick… oh, Jesus," she whimpered, never taking her eyes from his as the tightly coiled tension within her expanded to fill her whole body, bringing her ever closer to the pinnacle of desire. She bucked against him like a mad woman, her whole body screaming for release.

Faster and faster they moved together, the rest of the world disappearing all around them. "Oh my God, Andrea," he rasped, his eyes trained on her face, unwilling to miss a single second of her ecstasy. At last he felt her internal muscles spasm around him, squeezing him tightly, and she cried out with the full force of her orgasm. He simultaneously let himself go, exploding inside her, a shuddering groan escaping him.

Their simultaneous climax scorched the night air, rocking them with the purest pleasure either had ever known.

Still quaking from her orgasm, Andrea dropped her head forward to rest in the crook of Rick's neck, her breath warm against his skin. He slowly lowered her to the ground and attempted to regain control of his muscles.

When their surroundings finally came back into focus, she took a step back from him. She tilted her head up and he gently tucked a few errant strands of hair behind her ear. Her lips bruised and swollen from the force of his kiss, she opened her mouth to speak, but couldn't find the right words to express herself. Instead, she began gathering her clothes and re-dressing herself; he followed suit with his own clothes.

When they were once again fully clothed, Andrea moved in front of Rick and gave him a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," she said matter-of-factly.

He frowned. "For what?"

"For being my sleep aid," she replied, a tiny smile tugging the corners of her lips upwards momentarily, before she pressed her mouth into a stubborn line. "But know that that's all this was, Rick. Nothing has changed between us."

He rolled his eyes: he was getting pretty damn tired of hearing her insist that 'nothing has changed'. Before he could respond though, she gave a quick nod, then vanished into the rectory, leaving him with a dumbfounded look on his face.

Upstairs, she slowly eased the door to her bedroom open and crawled beneath the blankets on her bed. The second her head hit the pillow, she fell into a deep, satisfying sleep.

* * *

From the trees surrounding the rectory, a pair of eyes that had watched the joining of Andrea and Rick were lit with sinister delight.


	25. Chapter 25

"Shane… Shane."

The sound of Lori murmuring her former lover's name in her sleep served as the world's most unpleasant alarm clock for Rick. It had been happening with increasing frequency lately, and it still hurt like a fist to the face every time he heard it. Irritated, Rick sat up in the pile of blankets and pillows on the floor that had become his bed. The ache he felt in his leg muscles had a surprisingly soothing effect on him as he recalled the encounter with Andrea that had caused the soreness. He glanced at his son in bed next to Lori, and wad glad to see that he was still fast asleep.

Unwilling to listen to his wife's dream-induced mumblings any longer, he quickly snagged a T-shirt from a pile of clothes on the floor and silently slipped it on. He tiptoed from the bedroom and made his way to the rectory's back door. The sun was just beginning to rise as he stepped outside, and he blinked at the pinks and oranges battling back the night sky. A glint in the grass caught his attention, and he leaned over to investigate. _Oh shit_, he thought as he retrieved one of the buttons that had gone flying off his shirt as a result of Andrea's impatient need last night. With only a handful of clothes to rotate through, he knew he couldn't afford to lose a perfectly good shirt, and more importantly, couldn't think of any way to explain to Lori why all the buttons had suddenly gone missing at once. Given his limited wardrobe, the question would be unavoidable.

Feeling slightly foolish, he began scouring the ground, picking up tiny silver buttons and pocketing them. He'd have to find a moment alone to sew them back on at some point; it wasn't the first time he'd been appreciative of the skills he'd learned as a Boy Scout.

When he was certain he'd found enough buttons to suffice, he wandered over to the fire and found Carol already there, preparing the morning's meal. "Hi," he offered as he plunked himself down on the log next to her.

"Morning," she returned with a hint of a smile. "Want some of that instant oatmeal you guys brought back from Wal-Mart? It's kind of gritty, but it'll stick to your ribs, and we've got some berries to throw on top."

Rick grinned gratefully. "Sounds delicious," he told her. "That's very kind of you, Carol. Thank you."

She nodded and looked away from him quickly, busying herself with preparations. Rick couldn't help but feel that she'd been a little skittish around him ever since the evacuation from Hershel's farm.

By the time he'd licked his oatmeal bowl clean, the rest of the group had joined him around the fire, save for Andrea and Daryl, who he assumed were out hunting again. Hershel and T-Dog begun an animated conversation on the fence progress, while Carol and Beth discussed the day's chores. Lori managed to toddle out on a pair of crutches.

Carl babbled away in his seat between his parents. Lori looked at Rick over their son's head. "Why were you up so early this morning?" she asked conversationally.

"You were talking in your sleep again." He hadn't yet filled his wife in on what it was that she had repeatedly been saying during slumber lately.

She offered a conciliatory smile. "Hope it wasn't anything too embarrassing."

Rick snorted. "Guess that depends on what you're embarrassed by."

Lori frowned at the hint of frost in the Sheriff's voice. She waited for him to continue, but it was clear he wasn't going to volunteer anything further.

With Carl and Lori currently occupied with eating, Rick decided that he may as well take advantage of the situation to rummage through the bedroom for a needle and thread. He dropped a kiss on his son's head, then excused himself from breakfast.

Once upstairs, he scanned his eyes around the bedroom, trying to decide where to begin his search. His eyes fell on a cardboard box of odds and ends next to the beat-up old dresser, and decided it was as good a place as any to begin.

He sat down in front of the box and began to sift through its contents. It seemed to be a box of mementos, and he smiled as he picked up a handful of old greeting cards. It was hard not to feel nostalgic as he flipped through the cards that chronicled a life from a hundred years ago. There were birthday cards made out to Carl, and handmade cards from the boy wishing his parents happy mothers' and fathers' day. He came across several cards he'd given Lori to commemorate their wedding anniversaries; his hand-writing inside them seemed foreign to him, his declarations of love unfamiliar. Beneath the stack of cards were the sorts of documents that used to seem so important: Carl's birth certificate, the deed to their home, passports. Rick marvelled that Lori had thought to grab such things before evacuating, but he was suddenly glad that she had. Perhaps one day the world would return to normal, or some version of normal, and there would be a use for such items again. He laid the documents on the carpet next to the greeting cards, and when he looked back in the box, he was pleased to see half of a spool of thread peeking out from beneath a thick envelope.

He took the unsealed envelope from the box and opened it, sliding out a thick packet of paper. The letterhead was unfamiliar to him, and he furrowed his brow as he skimmed over the dense text. When what he was looking at finally dawned on him, he felt a heated ball of rage well up within him.

"Looking for something?"

Rick turned his head and found Lori at the bedroom door, balanced on her pair of homemade crutches. The seething anger in her husband's eyes caused her to draw a sharp breath.

"You want to tell me what the hell _this_ is?" he ground out, waving the papers in his hand at her.

A sinking feeling in her stomach, she hobbled towards him and looked at the papers he thrust into her hands. She knew without reading the text what it was. "Rick, I –"

He cut her off sharply. "_Divorce papers_?"

She sat down heavily on the carpet next to him. "Rick, I'm sorry, I forgot I even had those."

"Were you ever going to tell me?" He was just barely holding on to control.

She sighed. "I…" She looked away from him before continuing. "I tried, honey. Remember when you found Carl and I, that first night you were back? I told you I was sorry for being angry with you, and you said we should just forget about whatever we'd done in the past?"

Rick looked positively incredulous. "Are you fucking kidding me? You know goddamned well that I thought you were referring to all the fighting we used to do, not..." He gestured sharply at the papers she now held. "Not _this_."

"I know," she said quietly. "But what was I supposed to do? We didn't think you'd ever wake up in that hospital, and –"

He didn't let her finish. "I'm only going to say this once, Lori: do _not_ lie to me about this." He snatched the papers back from her. "Look at the goddamned date on these. You had these drawn up _before_ I went into the hospital."

Her shoulders sagged with defeat. "Alright, fine. I went to see my dad's lawyer in a moment of weakness, just to see what my options were. Those papers are just a draft he sent me, really. Look at them, Rick: I didn't even sign them!"

Her desperate insistence did little to defuse his anger. "Maybe you didn't sign them, but you sure as hell didn't throw them out either." He waved the papers in front of her. "And you decided to save them when you and Carl were _running for your lives_?"

Lori sighed. "Well, Shane said – "

"_Shane_?!" Rick exploded. "Shane knew?"

She flinched at the volume of his voice. "I told him just before we left for Atlanta. When we still thought there was a world waiting for us there. He said it might be important if I ever wanted to – " She stopped short, suddenly realizing that the conclusion of her sentence was only likely to enrage her husband further.

"Ever wanted to what?" Rick's voice was deathly quiet.

She looked up at him, tried to convey some sort of innocence by widening her eyes. "Ever wanted to remarry," she murmured.

Something inside him broke. "_Remarry_? Well, yeah, I'm sure the guy who's _banging my wife_ would give _real_ objective advice," he sneered.

Her hand met his cheek with a sharp crack. "Don't say it like that," she growled, her own anger bubbling up. "He saved our lives, Rick. Mine and Carl's. I would think you'd be grateful for that."

Rick laughed, a hollow, empty sound. "Grateful?" He rubbed at the red handprint now appearing on his face. "He may have saved your lives, but he tried to _take_ mine."

Lori looked wounded. "So you say," she grumbled quietly.

He stared at her. "'_So I say_?'" he spat, mouth agape. He stood, began pacing with agitation. "Goddamn you, Lori, _that is what happened_. He tried to kill me! He told me so himself while his _gun was pointed at me_. He said you and Carl had gotten over me with him before, and you could do it again. All he wanted was to go back to the life he used to have with _you_. The life _you_ gave him."

The barrage of words hung heavily in the air. "I was trying to survive! Trying to protect _your_ son!" she cried.

He looked down at her with such venom that she hardly recognized her own husband. "And _that_ I'm grateful for. I could maybe even live with that if it wasn't for…" He trailed off, resenting what he knew needed to be said. "If it wasn't for the fact that I think _you_ would have happily gone back to that life too." He turned away from her, walked to the room's one small window and stared out of it. "Tell me, Lori," he said quietly. "How much easier would your life have been if he _had_ killed me? How hard would it really have been for you to go back to him?" He refused to look at her.

She struggled to her feet, propping herself up on her crutches. "How dare you?" she spat. "You think Carl would be _fine _without his father? You think that's what I'd want?"

Rick's tall frame sagged, and he pivoted to face his wife again. "That is _not_ what I asked you," he said slowly, evenly. "I didn't ask you what it would have been like for Carl to live without a father. I asked you how hard it would have been for _you_ to go back to Shane." With two long strides he was in front of her, and he grabbed her forearms, forcing her to look at him. "Some part of you is still in love with him." It was a statement of fact, not a question.

She could hardly look at her husband. She broke eye contact with him and looked at the floor instead. She drew a deep breath, then finally murmured, "Yes."

Rick recoiled as though he'd been struck. He backed away from her, looked at her as though he no longer knew her. He ran his hand over his face, trying to process her revelation. He realized he was still clutching the divorce papers in his hand, and he stared at them, then thrust them at Lori. "Guess it's a good thing you had these drawn up then," he hissed. When she didn't reach out to take them from him, he let the papers drop to the floor at her feet, then stormed from the room.


	26. Chapter 26

Several days passed where Andrea only managed to catch fleeting glimpses of Rick. He made himself increasingly scarce, volunteering for endless shifts in the tower, isolating himself from the group. She wasn't sure what had prompted his need for solitude, but the constant scowl on Lori's face told her that something had happened between husband and wife. Andrea's first instinct had been that Rick had told his wife about his affair, but when no confrontation with Lori was forthcoming, she had to assume it was another matter entirely that had put the couple at odds with each other. During her afternoons on the raft with Carl, Andrea couldn't resist asking the boy questions about what was going on with his parents, disguising her queries as casual conversation, but he seemed just as clueless on the matter as she was.

Some days into his constant vigil, Rick finally gave up his nightly post in the tower to T-Dog, exhaustion finally taking precedent over his desire to be alone. Andrea, in turn, had relieved T-Dog, and it was very late into the night when Hershel came to relieve her.

So it was that Andrea found herself trudging towards the rectory at three o'clock in the morning, her steps accompanied by the singing of crickets and the occasional high-pitched squeak of a passing bat. When she rounded the back corner of the rectory, a black silhouetted shape laying on the hood of the hearse caught her eye. She knew it was Rick, and the rational part of her brain told her that it would be best if she just ignored him and went to bed. Her feelings for the man quickly overrode her rationality, however, and she sighed before changing her course to move in his direction.

His eyes opened at the sound of her approach.

"Hi," she said, crawling onto the hood and sliding down next to him.

"Hi." His hand immediately sought out hers and he linked their fingers together. She didn't resist.

"You gonna tell me what's going on?"

He took a deep, frustrated breath. "Just… problems with Lori," he said vaguely.

Andrea turned her head to look at him and frowned. "Bullshit," she fired back. "You guys argue all the time. It doesn't usually lead to you becoming a hermit."

He tilted his face towards her. "I found divorce papers she had drawn up," he finally said.

"_What_?" The whole notion struck Andrea as ridiculous, anachronistic in their current world.

Rick rapidly relayed his blow-out with Lori to the blonde lying next to him. He finished with a long sigh.

She blinked several times, trying to wrap her head around his story. "… Wow," she eventually murmured.

"Yeah," he snorted. "Wow."

"So you've been hiding out for days, just brooding about this?"

He nodded in the darkness.

"Why?"

He furrowed his brow. "What do you mean, 'why'? She's in love with another man, Andrea."

Her expression was etched with confusion. "Look, no offence, but it's not like _you've_ been entirely faithful to her."

Though she spoke the truth, her words still agitated him. "Yeah, but that only happened _after_ she pushed me away."

"Are you seriously telling me that 'she did it first' is your defence?" she asked, cocking one eyebrow critically. "What are you, twelve?"

Rick stiffened slightly. "I…" _Damn, she must've been one hell of a lawyer_, he thought. He sighed. "You know that first night back at camp, when I found you all, she actually asked me if I _wanted_ my wedding ring back?"

Andrea sucked in a breath. "Ouch."

"Yeah. I guess maybe it kills me that I was a good husband until she started being a crummy wife."

"Ah," Andrea said, her voice laced with sarcasm. "So what's happening between us is her fault."

"Don't put words in my mouth," he grumbled. "What we've got going is my fault and your fault. Possibly more _your_ fault for always walking around looking so goddamned beautiful."

The sensual smile he flashed her had her stomach rioting. "And I suppose it's also my fault that _you_ walk around looking so goddamned sexy?"

"Sexy, huh?" He rolled to his side, facing her.

Her eyes sparkled. "Fuck yeah," she purred. "I think it's the stubble. Or maybe there's just something about a man in uniform."

His body responded predictably to her playful banter, and he reached out to palm her hip, turning her so that she too was on her side, facing him.

"Easy now," she warned, and he couldn't tell if she was being serious or not. "I'm just here to talk."

He decided to err on the side of caution. His grin faded and he said, "I think I just realized what it is about those divorce papers that's got me so messed up: she makes me feel like I fail at being both a good husband and a good father."

He looked so dejected that Andrea couldn't help reaching her fingers out to his cheek. "I thought I'd talked you out of that nonsense. Remember the night Dale died, and what I told you on the roof of the RV? You are a _good man_, Rick Grimes. Granted, you've made some questionable decisions lately regarding me, but at your core, you're a good man." Her voice softened before she continued. "Don't forget, I have spent a _lot_ of time with your son, and that is one good kid."

He smirked. "Yeah, I think he might have a bit of a crush on you."

"Can you blame him?" she asked, chuckling.

"Nope." Rick blatantly ran his eyes up and down Andrea's body. "Not one bit."

She playfully elbowed him in the ribs. "Calm down, Officer."

His smile was heated, wolfish.

"What I was saying," she said pointedly, trying to get back on track, though it was a bit of a struggle. "Is that you've clearly done a great job with him. He's conscientious, and caring, and respectful. And incredibly bright. And brave. You have no idea how many shitty, spoiled children I came across as a lawyer. But Carl… he's an amazing kid. So, you know, score one for his father raising him right."

He reached out and brushed a few locks of golden hair from her face, then ran his thumb gently across her lower lip. "Goddamn, Andrea, you make me feel like Superman," he said, his tone bordering on reverent.

Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she grinned impishly. "Are you suggesting you're a man of steel?" she said, her voice dripping with innuendo. She realized she was deliberately stoking his desire, and tried not to think about why she was doing so.

He pulled her hips against his groin, and she felt his need prod against her. "Wanna find out?" he asked, his voice raspy as he wiggled his eyebrows.

"Well," she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. "I have been having a bit of a tough time falling asleep the last few nights…"

"Sounds like you need your sleep aid again," he growled, bringing his lips to hers.

She welcomed his kiss without hesitation, revelling in the heat radiating from his body. She opened her mouth to his tongue, alternately sucking on it and rubbing it with her own tongue, her fingers tangling in his hair of their own accord. It was a long, leisurely kiss, evidence of emotions neither wanted to acknowledge.

They quickly dispensed of their clothes, fitting their bodies together with familiarity. They rediscovered the curves and valleys of one another, searching, caressing, touching. He kneaded her breasts before lowering his head to them, drawing first one, then the other into his mouth as a series of low moans slid from her lips.

She reached between their bodies and found his hard length, cupping him, stroking him, running her fingers over his sensitive tip. His moans joined hers in the night air.

He propped himself up and rolled to position himself above her, careful to support his weight. He lowered his head and kissed her deeply, then allowed his mouth to travel down her neck, across her collar bone, moving down to refocus his attention on her breasts. When his lips and tongue had her squirming beneath him, he took his mouth from her chest and licked and kissed his way down her taut stomach, then buried his head between her legs, yearning to enjoy the flavour of her at her very core once again.

She arched skyward, clutching at his head as he skilfully navigated the most intimate part of her with his tongue. Her head spun at a dizzying speed, and she whimpered and begged for release.

It wasn't long before she cried out, delirious as a powerful orgasm ripped through her. As she struggled to catch her breath, Rick's lips travelled down her legs. When he reached her feet, he straightened and stood in front of the hearse, erect and throbbing, and took hold of her ankles. He flipped her smoothly onto her stomach and began pulling her towards him.

She gasped at the feel of the cold metal of the hearse's hood against her bare skin, trembling at the feel of her nipples sliding across the sleek surface as she was pulled down the vehicle.

When she was finally positioned in front of him, he put his hands around her waist and lifted her slightly, raising her until she was on all fours. His breathing ragged, he pushed into her and took her from behind.

She cried out at the feel of him inside her, the angle bringing him into contact with internal pleasure points that she hadn't even realized she possessed. He gripped her tightly and began to thrust in and out of her, increasing his speed, the slapping of flesh against flesh echoing through the night.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," she whimpered over and over, and he strained to hold on to his control, putting everything he had into bringing her pleasure. Despite the cool air, their bodies quickly built up a sheen of sweat, the product of both exertion and desire. With each of his thrusts forward she rocked herself backwards, meeting him stroke for stroke, bringing him deeper inside of her.

At last, with a shout of his name, Andrea found her second release, and he spilled himself into her with a guttural moan. He twitched and pulsed inside of her, flung into the abyss in a shower of sparks.

Taking in huge gulps of air, Andrea collapsed onto the hood, rolling onto her back. Rick flopped down beside her, thoroughly spent. He pulled her into his arms and held her as they both drifted in bliss, struck dumb by the intensity of their encounter.

When she regained the power of speech, she looked up at Rick's face. "I cannot _believe_ we just did this again."

He grinned. "If you're saying that was unbelievable, then I agree."

She rolled her eyes. "Now who's putting words in whose mouth?" His smile refused to fade though, and she ultimately muttered, "Alright, yes, that _was_ unbelievable."

They snuggled together in awed silence for a lengthy period of time, each feeling as though their bodies were still connected. The stars blinked above them as they lay cradled in one another's arms, unwilling to move or face reality.

When Rick felt Andrea shiver in the cool night air, he lowered his lips to hers and kissed her soundly, then said, "Guess it's time to go in."

She sighed. "Guess so." She sat up reluctantly and dressed; he did the same with equal resignation. When they were both fully clothed, she sat back down on the hood of the hearse, and he moved to stand in front of her. "On the off chance that someone's awake in there, you should probably go in first," she told him. "I don't feel like explaining to someone why we're together."

"Me neither," he said, exhaling loudly. He reached out and cupped her cheek. "I can't wait till we can fall asleep next to each other in a bed again."

She lifted her hand and covered his. "You really see that happening any time soon?"

He nodded with conviction. "I do, sweetheart. I really do." He kissed her one final time, a soft kiss full of sadness and hope. With one last long look into her beautiful blue-green eyes, he turned away from her and entered the rectory, his heart heavy.

She looked up at the moon and hugged her knees to her chest. She wondered if he really did have some plan that would allow them to explore the possibility of a relationship, or if the very notion of such a thing was just empty, wishful thinking on both their parts.

As she sat on the hearse, deep in thought, she heard a rustling of footsteps on the carpet of leaves that had been left behind by autumn. Before she could turn her head to investigate the sound though, a white hot pain exploded in the back of her skull, and her world went black.


	27. Chapter 27

It took Lori's brain several minutes to realize that the sound of her son's voice was not a part of her dream, but rather a distant product of reality. Her eyes blinked open in the morning light filtering through the bedroom window, and Carl's face came slowly into focus. She yawned and mumbled sleepily, "What is it, baby?"

"I think you were dreaming about Shane," the boy informed her.

She frowned. "Why do you say that?"

Carl scrutinized his mother, his expression unreadable. "You were saying his name a whole lot in your sleep."

A knot formed in Lori's stomach, and suddenly her husband's frosty demeanour when he'd told her that she was talking in her sleep made complete sense. How many times had he awoken to the sound of Shane's name on her lips? Struggling to keep her tone even, she brushed a few rebellious strands of hair from her son's forehead and said, "I guess I just miss him."

The child nodded. "Me too."

She took hold of Carl and pulled him down next to her on the bed, gathering him to her for a long hug. "It's okay to miss him, you know."

She felt her son nod against her chest. "I know."

Lori waited for Carl to say something, anything else about how he was feeling, how he was coping with the death of his friend. _He's so much like his father,_ she thought when it was clear that nothing else would be forthcoming on the matter.

He squirmed out of his mother's arms and jumped off the bed. "Can I go eat now?" he asked, smoothing down the hair she'd rumpled.

She laughed at the boy's impatience with her coddling. "Sure, honey. I'll be down in a few minutes."

As Carl bolted from the room with the enthusiasm for a new day unique to children, she heard him peep a quick, "Hi, Dad!" before his footfalls bounded down the stairs.

She looked up and saw her husband enter the room. His posture was determined, his jaw set with resolution. He sat down next to her on the bed. "Morning."

She frowned. "Are we talking now?"

He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I didn't come here to fight," he told her. "I just needed to think on some things."

She smiled wryly. "Don't you always?"

"Please," Rick implored, refusing to take the bait. "Just let me say what I came here to say."

There was such severity to in his expression that Lori's breathing slowed; she tried to steel herself, sensing that she was not going to like what was coming.

Her husband took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. He took a long look into her eyes, and could almost see the girl he'd once fallen in love with. His voice wavered slightly as he spoke, and he resented the uncertainty it implied. "I think, maybe…" he said slowly. "… maybe those divorce papers weren't a terrible idea."

An eternity passed as he waited for Lori to respond, to react. Her face was a blank slate, coloured at the edges with shock.

A million synapses fired a million different thoughts in her head as she tried to suss out her own reaction to her husband's words. Her mouth felt dry, her tongue heavy and lifeless. She felt angry, she knew, but somewhere in all those thoughts echoed a surprising sense of relief. Crashing down on top of those thoughts, however, were a set of much more maudlin thoughts: she was pregnant and her husband was leaving her. She couldn't choke back the feelings of vulnerability and impotence bubbling up within her. Rather than caving in to what she saw as feminine weakness, Lori opted to lash out. "You son of a bitch," she seethed. "I'm pregnant. _Pregnant_, Rick. All that thinking you did, and the best you could come up with leaving your pregnant wife?"

Rick let his wife's anger wash over him and accepted it: he had expected nothing less. He maintained his cool and nodded. "You have every right to be angry," he told her. "But I'm not going anywhere. I will be right here to help you raise Carl and this baby. I won't stop being a father, and we can parent these kids together, just not as husband and wife."

He watched Lori gearing up to retaliate, and rushed ahead with one of several justifications he'd pre-planned in his head. "If you think about it, our situation is probably ideal for raising these kids as a pair of divorced parents. There's no custody agreement, because we're both there for them all the time. And you know, if we ever celebrate holidays again, we won't have to work out some arrangement about who gets what holiday. Better still, Carl won't have to decide which parent to live with."

Lori blinked in disbelief. "Are you out of your goddamned mind?" she blurted. "You're going to sit there and try to tell me that this is a _good_ thing?"

It had all sounded so sensible in his head, but the horror on Lori's face had him immediately second-guessing his logic. "Listen, I-"

She cut him off abruptly. "Rick, I _told_ you that those divorce papers meant nothing. I never signed them, remember? Just because I had one moment of weakness, you're _abandoning_ me?"

"No," he countered firmly. "This is not about the divorce papers. Or… not _just_ about the divorce papers. And I'm not _abandoning_ you, for Christ's sake. I'm not going anywhere and neither are you. I'm just…" He paused, searching for the right words. "Does this _feel_ like a marriage to you?" he finally asked.

"Oh course it does!"

"Wait," he said calmly. "Don't just react out of anger. Think about it. _Does this really feel like a marriage anymore_? Think about how our marriage was in the beginning. Are any of those feelings still around? I mean, come _on_, Lori. We haven't had sex in _months_."

Lori stiffened and latched on to the easy point to argue, refusing to consider the rest of his words. "So because I'm not putting out, you're through?" Her tone was venomous, designed to hurt.

Rick rolled his eyes. "Damnit, Lori, that is _not_ what I'm trying to say, and you know it." He recognized the stubborn tilt to her chin, remembered that he had once found it endearing. He decided to try another tact. "Let me ask you this: if this was still a real marriage, would you be in love with someone else?"

She flinched. "He's dead, Rick. How I felt about him makes no difference now."

"That's the problem, Lori: it makes _all_ the difference."

She crossed her arms defensively in front of herself, casting about for a rebuttal and finding none.

Rick could see that she wasn't ready to back down yet. He sighed. "Alright, alright," he breathed with resignation. "How about you take some time to think about this? And I mean _really_ think about it. Think about this marriage, and how you feel about it, about us, when you're not so angry." He laid his hand against her cheek with nostalgic affection. She allowed herself to lean into his palm for a moment, to savour his touch for a split-second before turning her head away. "I'm not leaving you all alone, Lori. I'm still your partner in parenting, and I will be there every step of the way throughout this pregnancy. But I need you to face reality. I have."

Lori's eyes still flashed angrily, still blatantly signalling her feelings of betrayal and rejection. She wanted desperately for her husband to be wrong, wanted to lash out at him until he felt as wounded as she did. Before she could, however, a knock sounded against the bedroom doorframe.

Husband and wife looked towards the sound in unison: Daryl stood framed in the entrance.

The redneck looked back and forth between the pair in front of him, realizing he'd interrupted a weighty conversation. He hadn't the luxury of time to wait, though. "We've got a problem, Boss."

Rick furrowed his brow, a sinking feeling in his stomach. The severity of Daryl's expression told him that whatever news he had to share, it wasn't good. "What is it?"

Daryl rubbed the back of his neck and looked down, loathe to explain things to Rick, but knowing he had no choice. He cleared his throat to pierce the awkward silence descending and said, "Why don't you come on down to the campfire – we're having a group meeting."

The Sheriff stood slowly. "Daryl." There was a hard edge to his voice. "What is going on?"

"We, uh… we think Andrea's missing."


	28. Chapter 28

Daryl wasn't surprised in the least when Rick bolted from the room and bounded down the stairs at breakneck speed. He looked back at Lori, saw that she was trying to blink back tears. Visibly uncomfortable, his eyes darted to the handmade crutches leaning against the wall next to the bed. "You um… you need some help with those?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the wooden aids.

Lori swiped quickly at her eyes, sniffled, and tried to compose herself. She shook her head and offered a weak smile. "No thanks, Daryl. You go. I'll be down in a minute."

He nodded and proceeded to follow in her husband's footsteps, albeit at a much more reasonable pace. When he arrived at the camp, he found Rick pacing in agitation, more wild animal than man. Daryl approached Rick immediately, and placed a firm hand on the man's shoulder to still his movements. "Look, I know you and Andrea have become… close lately," the redneck said, his tone soft enough for only Rick to hear. "But you need to calm the hell down and work through this with us. We will find her Boss, as long as we all keep our heads."

Rick stared at the other man for a minute, feeling as though he might leap right out of his own skin. All he wanted to do was find the incredible woman who had captured his heart and drag her into his arms, but he had no idea where to even begin. His entire body was screaming to act, and he had no plan to channel his energy in to. Daryl's words seeped slowly into his brain, and he realized the redneck was right. "… okay," he eventually ground out.

Daryl eyed the Sheriff warily, then blew out a breath before addressing the group at large. "Alright," he began, stepping into the role of leader, knowing Rick was at odds with rational thought for the time being. "Let's see if we can retrace her steps. Who relieved her in the tower?"

"I did," Hershel said from his seated position on one of the logs encircling the fire.

"Did you see her make it back to the rectory?" asked Glenn. Maggie was gripping his hand tightly.

Hershel nodded. "Saw her disappear 'round back of it."

Carol piped up. "She never came into our bedroom," she said, her delicate features pulling into a frown.

"So Hershel's the last one who saw her?" Daryl looked around the group for confirmation.

"No." Rick's voice was a low growl, deceptively calm. "I was."

Every eye in the group flew to Rick. "_You_ were?" asked Maggie, one delicate eyebrow arched.

The Sheriff closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting back a throbbing pain in his temples. "Yeah," he said, opening his eyes and training his gaze on the ground. He folded his arms across his chest to hide his trembling hands. "I couldn't sleep, so I came out for some air and… ran into her on her way in."

T-Dog gave his head a slight shake, knowing that it was very likely the pair had done more than just exchange greetings. Trying to clarify things for the rest of the group, he asked pointedly, "Did you see her go inside?"

"No," the Sheriff said again. He resumed pacing. "We… talked for a while, then I went in."

"And you just left her out here all alone?" Daryl narrowed his eyes at the de facto leader, trying to decide whether or not Rick was at fault for the disappearance of his hunting partner.

"Yes." His voice was barely audible, a tortured croak, and Daryl realized that Rick was already blaming himself. "She was… she said she'd be going to bed in a few minutes." He felt sick with the knowledge that she'd only stayed outside to keep him out of trouble.

Aware that the Sheriff was in no condition to deal sensibly with the situation, Daryl began issuing orders. "Glenn, T-Dog, you guys go get locked and loaded for the search. Carol, can you put together some provisions for us? We'll need them if the search brings us very far from here. I'm gonna see if I can't pick up some kind of trail." There were no objections, and those the redneck had named departed for their assignments. Daryl turned his attention to the older man. "Hershel, I'm gonna need you to stay here and protect the women." The farmer bobbed his head with understanding.

"What should I do?" asked Carl, clearly trying to hide his worry.

Rick's movements halted and he crouched in front of his son. "You stay here," he told the boy.

Carl stubbornly shook his head. "Dad, she's my friend. I wanna help."

The Sheriff reached out and grabbed the child's hands, giving them what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze. "You can help by staying here and helping Hershel. We need another man on protection duty."

There was a distinct straightening of posture in reaction to being called a 'man', and Carl immediately assumed a look of pride. "Okay, Dad," he said gravely.

"So what's the plan?"

Daryl and Rick looked up to see Lori tottering towards them on her crutches. The redneck was quick to cede the job of explaining things to her husband. He walked off in the direction of the land behind the rectory.

"We're going on a search."

Lori frowned. "Are you sure that's the best plan?" she asked, tilting her head sceptically. "Maybe she just went off somewhere for some alone time."

Rick's countenance darkened visibly. "She didn't."

"We're endangering a lot of lives here just to save one, Rick."

He gaped at his wife. "For Christ's sake, Lori, this is the woman who saved your life."

"I know that," she replied briskly. "But hasn't the rule always been that we don't risk the whole group to save one person?"

He turned sharply away from her and stared sightlessly into the thick of the trees. "Look around you, Lori," he gritted out. "We've become a pretty small group since that rule was thought up – can we really afford to lose someone else? And Andrea is the best goddamn shot we've got. We lose her, we're losing one of our best chances for survival." He could feel his wife's eyes boring into the back of his skull, and he didn't care. If he lost Andrea… he wasn't altogether certain he'd be able to carry on living. If it came down to it, he knew he'd tear up every inch of the endless forest surrounding them until he found her.

He turned his head slowly and looked over his shoulder at Lori, squinting through the fine mist of rain that had begun to fall. "I'm not arguing about this. It's not up for debate."

Lori opened and closed her mouth several times as she considered fighting her husband on the matter. But something in his eyes told her it would be disastrous for her to do so; there was something almost dangerous about the tension in his body beneath his dampening clothes. "Fine," she eventually muttered and stalked back into the house. He struggled to push back the fury he felt at his wife's failure to even offer assistance.

As soon as the backdoor slammed shut, Rick pivoted rapidly and made his way to Daryl. The redneck's mouth was set in a grim line when the Sheriff made his approach. "What? You find something?" he demanded to know, tamping down panic.

Daryl wiped his hands on his jeans and narrowed his elfin eyes shrewdly at the man standing in front of him. "Look man, before we go any further here, I need you to be straight with me about what's going on here. I've seen the way you two look at each other: yer like cats in heat, the pair of you."

Rick blushed, but had the good sense not to argue. If finding Andrea hinged on him telling the truth, he had no choice but to do so. "Yeah," he said, running a hand across his face, swiping at the rain dripping from his brow. "We're, um… we're kind of…" He looked everywhere but at Daryl, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

The redneck was quick to put the other man out of his misery. "I don't need details, man, Jesus. Just tell me how you left her, and how long the two of you were here. I'm trying to sort out tracks here, and I need to know where to start."

The information Daryl needed would still be awkward to provide, so Rick looked away and tried to barrel through it. "We, uh… you know… on the hood of the hearse." He glanced back and saw the other man grinning slyly, despite the dire nature of the situation.

"On the hood of the car?" he drawled, biting his lower lip to keep from laughing. "Shit, man, you _dog_."

"Oh, shut up," Rick snapped, mildly irritated.

"Alright, alright," Daryl conceded, screwing his face back into a serious expression. "Did you go anywhere else? Walk in the woods maybe? Over to the campfire?"

The Sheriff shook his head resolutely. "No. When we… finished," he glanced sharply at Daryl and saw him trying to stifle a grin again. He cleared his throat before continuing. "Afterwards, we walked around the hearse a bit, I guess, just to pick up our clothes. We dressed, and then…" He thought back to last night, their post-coital cuddling and goodbye kiss burned vividly into his brain. "She sat back down on the hood, I stood in front of her, and we said our goodnights."

Daryl frowned. "You didn't go inside together?"

Rick's shoulders sagged. "She didn't want to chance anyone seeing us together. She… she was trying to protect me. She said she'd be in a few minutes later."

"And she never made it," Daryl finished, all traces of amusement having fled from his face. "So she was sitting on the hood when you last saw her?"

Rick nodded, then watched as Daryl moved to the front of the hearse and stooped over, scouring the ground as he moved. The Sheriff was fidgety, impatient, desperate to begin the search. He started to pace once more, but Daryl was quick to freeze him in his tracks.

"Don't start that shit again," he ordered. "You might screw up the trail."

Halting instantly, Rick shoved his hands into his pockets and watched Daryl work. He glanced back at the rectory, looked at the spot on the exterior wall where she'd wrapped her naked body around him and rode him into mind-numbing ecstasy. _Damn it Andrea, where the hell are you?_ He balled his hands into tight fists, trying his best to curb his catastrophic thinking.

"Shit."

Rick was at Daryl's side in an instant. "What? What'd you find?"

Looking up at the Sheriff's frantic expression, the redneck took a deep breath before replying. "There's blood here."

All the colour drained from Rick's face. "Oh no," he breathed, clutching two fistfuls of his dark hair in his hands. "No, no, no."

Daryl stood quickly, placing a reassuring hand on the Sheriff's shoulder. "Take it easy, Rick. It's only a little bit. She didn't lose enough blood to…" he trailed off, loathe to finish the thought.

"Not enough to kill her?" Rick whispered hoarsely, struggling to even say the words.

"Exactly," Daryl reassured him, trying to keep the man from full-blown hysteria. "And she wasn't shot, right? A gun shot would've woken someone up." Unsure if Rick was even hearing his words, Daryl gripped him by the forearms and shook him forcefully. "Rick, listen to me: we have every reason to believe she's alive, and goddamnit, we _are_ going to find her."

He watched as the clouds glazing Rick's eyes seemed to clear, and was relieved to see the Sheriff's demeanour shift from terror to resolve.

Rick drew himself up to his full height and yanked his pistol from the holster around his waist. He flipped the Python open, saw that it was fully loaded, and snapped it closed. His eyes darkened as he stared down Daryl. "We leave _now_."


	29. Chapter 29

Daryl's assessment of the tracks around the hearse took an eternity as far as Rick was concerned. Hershel, T-Dog and Glenn had all arrived with firearms and a meagre supply of assorted ammunition, and Carol had dutifully brought water and a selection of rations to the men for their journey, but Daryl was still crouched low to the ground, trying to sort one footprint from the next.

"Well?" Rick finally asked impatiently, chomping at the bit.

The redneck at last straightened and wiped his hands on his battered jeans. "I think she was knocked out and carried by someone."

Rick's hands curled into angry fists. "How do you know?"

"Look here," Daryl gestured, calling the attention of the other men to a particular set of tracks. "This set of prints is much deeper than the others, like someone was carrying something real heavy."

Rick squinted, but could see no difference between the various indentations in the earth. He decided he'd just have to trust Daryl. "Okay, then those are the prints we follow," he commanded.

Glenn cleared his throat nervously. "I hate to say it, but… how do we know a walker didn't get her?"

The icy glare the Sheriff affixed on the younger man actually had Glenn taking a step backwards.

T-Dog was quick to intercede. "There'd be a lot more blood if one of them had," he said. "Walkers aren't exactly known to nibble delicately."

The logical answer satisfied Glenn and seemed to calm Rick slightly.

"I'll take the lead," Daryl interjected. "I don't want you all messing up my tracks."

The men advancing through the forest that day were a sombre bunch. T-Dog and Glenn were wracked with concern for their friend, while Daryl focused on tracking the woman he'd very much come to admire.

Rick's journey, however, was marked by his entrapment in his own personal hell. He was disgusted with himself for not leaving Lori sooner, for making Andrea exist as some sort of home-wrecking, fallen woman. He convinced himself that he had damaged her somehow, had dragged her into fulfilling his own selfish needs. She'd fought through the death of her sister, raised herself up from suicidal thoughts, become the best marksman in the group, brought him profound strength in his weakest moments of self-doubt… and he'd left her alone on the hood of a car. He couldn't recall ever feeling so low.

What was tearing him up inside more than anything else though was the fact that he had never told her he loved her. And he did. He knew now that he did, that he had for a very long time. Every cell in his body, every nook and cranny in his heart overflowed with a love that defied everything he'd ever thought he knew about love. She was the first thing he thought about when he woke up in the morning, and the very last thing on his mind when he drifted off to sleep at night. She was his nourishment, his oxygen, his will to battle on. She was the flashing beacon he looked to when the world around him was a mess of rotting corpses and devastated dreams. And he'd never told her. If he couldn't find her, couldn't tell her how he felt… he knew with everything that he was that the self-loathing he felt in this moment would follow him to his grave.

Consumed with self-pity and grief, Rick failed to see Daryl signal for the men trailing him to hold up, and plowed into a wall of halted bodies. "Sorry, sorry," he muttered, looking disoriented as the group all turned to look at him. "Got distracted for a minute. What's the hold-up?"

Daryl was once again hovering over the ground, examining his surroundings. "Trail gets a little muddled here," he tossed back. "Looks like a couple walkers came this way, but I don't think they met up with whoever's got Andrea." He gestured to some drag marks in the leaves and damp soil. "Walkers don't pick their feet up when they walk, so they leave these kind of scratching marks, and these ones are covering up the prints we're following. No sign of a struggle though; they must've missed each other." He got to his feet and considered his options.

"Goddamn walkers," T-Dog muttered.

The redneck rubbed as his chin as he thought. "Alright, let's fan out a bit, see if we can't pick up the trail again." He briefed the men on what to look for: bent and broken foliage, disturbed undergrowth. It was a basic tracking tutorial, but he didn't have much choice. He crossed his fingers and hoped that he'd be the one lucky enough to reconnect with the trail, because there was a good chance the untrained eye would miss it.

The men dispersed, and Rick found himself trudging along near T-Dog.

"You doin' okay?" the black man asked after several minutes of silence.

Rick sighed and shook his head. "No." He looked hollow, deflated somehow.

T-Dog knew it would be futile to try offering any empty platitudes, or to suggest that everything would be okay. They had all seen too much to know that their new world didn't hold such promises. Instead he held his tongue, waiting to see if Rick had anything else to say,

He did. "Remember that day in the tower, when you asked me if I was in love with her?" the Sheriff asked.

T-Dog nodded. "Sure."

"Well, I am." Rick blew out a long breath at the sound of the words being said out loud, bringing home the reality. "Goddamn, I am. I love her."

T-Dog's expression was sympathetic: the group leader suddenly looked very lost and helpless. "I figured as much, even back then," he said, offering Rick a smile. "It was all over your face."

"You think she knew?" The other man's desperation was palpable.

T-Dog grinned and nodded emphatically. "Oh, yeah. I think she _knows_," he confirmed, his correction of the verb tense poignant. "Even if you never said it, she _knows_ it. Women are like that."

Just the thought lifted Rick slightly. "Thanks, T-Dog."

A holler came up suddenly from somewhere to the left of the pair, and they immediately went crashing through the brush towards the source. They pulled up sharply just before they tripped over Daryl squatting over a few marks on the forest floor. Hershel and Glenn arrived seconds later, out of breath, on edge. "You find the trail again?" gasped Glenn.

Daryl nodded grimly. "Think she must've come to around here. Looks like there was a bit of a struggle before she was cracked on the head again." He gestured warily at a few rust-coloured drops. "We got a bit more blood, then the tracks get deep again."

Rick's face was a thinly-veiled mask of rage. "I am going to fucking _kill_ whoever did this," he ground out between gritted teeth, one hand gripping the butt of the Python. Not one single man in the group doubted it for a second.

Daryl stood, and the men saw that he clutched something in his hand, something small that was concealed by his large fist. "Yeah, about that…" the redneck began, his tone quiet, his face inscrutable. He held up his hand and opened his fingers, revealing a vaguely familiar leather bracelet balanced on his palm. "I think she must have pulled it off during the fight."

Glenn frowned as he tried to place the accessory, sure he had seen it before. "Is that…?"

Rick's voice was deathly quiet as it sliced through the thick air, sending a shiver down the spine of every man in the group. "_Merle_."


	30. Chapter 30

Andrea drifted slowly upward through a nauseating, brightly coloured haze. Her consciousness battled against the fog, seeking the clear light of reality that would shake her from the darkness. The clouds began to recede slowly but surely, and at long last she was able to blink open her eyes as she came to. A thick, rancid smell permeated the air around her as she tried to overcome her disorientation. The space around her wavered into focus, and she looked around in the dim light to take in her surroundings. "What the hell?" she muttered to herself, trying to piece together where she was and how she got there, her thoughts nearly drowned out by the screaming ache in her head. That ache in her head… "Shit," she blurted to the empty room as the events leading to her current predicament came flooding back to her. She vaguely remembered being struck from behind while sitting on the hood of the hearse, and vividly recalled waking from unconsciousness to find herself slung over the shoulder of Merle Dixon as he carted her through the woods like a sack of potatoes. She knew she'd landed a few good blows on her captor before another crack to the head had sent her reeling back into oblivion. But where the hell was she now? She tried to stand and discovered her ankles and wrists bound to a stiff wooden chair. She looked down at the rope wrapped around her feet and found the floor carpeted in mouldy hay. The smell assaulting her nostrils was vaguely familiar. Was it livestock? She knew it was unlikely that any such animals had survived the walker onslaught, but at some point there must have been animals here; the hay had held onto their smell. She looked up and saw no windows, just rough-hewn wooden planks barely supporting a sagging roof. Light slashed through a number of openings between the boards. Her eyes fell on the room's single door: the wood it was made of was showing signs of rot. If she could get to it, she might be able to kick it in. She could barely make out a pair of low voices on the other side of the door. She had to be in a barn of some kind, she knew. Something clicked in her brain with her identification of her location, some kind of useful information she felt was hiding in the murky depths of her thoughts. If only the goddamn pain in her head would stop for a minute, she felt sure she'd be able to grasp it. She made a mental note to come back to it later. In the mean time, she had to fight back the panic threatening her and try to figure a way out.

She knew that the group had to have realized she'd gone missing by now. Daryl would have certainly raised the alarm when he couldn't find his hunting partner that morning. She had no idea how far Merle had carried her, and he would have had a decent head start, but there hadn't been enough time within her two bouts of unconsciousness for him to go a particularly lengthy distance. She was sure as well that the journey had been made entirely on foot. If Merle had scared up a car somewhere, he would have tossed her in it before she came to that first time. Working through what she knew and what she didn't in a calm, rational manner served as a balm to her fear, allowed her to keep her head.

She tried not to consider the possibility that the group would opt not to look for her, would just chalk her up as another loss to their hellish surroundings. She was their best marksman, she told herself. She'd made herself too valuable to lose. And she knew right down to her very core that Rick would not accept that she was simply gone and go on with his life.

Still, a nagging doubt in her head reminded her that with his mistress out of the picture, he would be free to resume his life with his wife and child. _Shut up_, she told that tiny, irritating voice. _Shut the fuck up._ She had to believe that he needed her just as much as she needed him if she was going to come through this alive. Even so, she told herself that she was not just going to sit around like some damsel in distress and wait for a bunch of men to save her. She occupied herself with weighing her options, trying to come up with some kind of rough plan.

The sound of the door opening had her snapping to attention, the muscles in her body coiling tightly in anticipation. A man she didn't recognize came into the room, and she narrowed her eyes as she tried to determine his features in the room's low light. He looked to be somewhere in his early thirties, and every exposed section of his skin was covered in a thin grime spattered with dirt and mud. He wasn't much taller than she was, and though he had a prominent potbelly that sagged over his belt, his arms and legs were thick and muscled. He had greasy brown hair and patchy, overgrown whiskers dotting his jaw. He was clothed in fading denim from head to foot. "Who the hell are _you_?" she demanded to know, determined not to show any weakness at all.

The man flashed her an unsettling grin, and she saw that he was missing several teeth. The teeth he did have were yellowed and rotting. "Now come on, that ain't a real polite way for a lady to talk," he drawled in a thick southern accent.

She pinned him with a ferocious look. "Hard to feel like a lady when I'm trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey," she shot back. "I asked you a question."

"Uppity little thing, ain'tcha?" the man sneered. He stooped and picked up a small milking stool from a shadowy corner of the room, and plunked it down in front of her before seating himself on it. "Name's Joe Don," he told her, his reeking breath washing over her.

The smell made Andrea want to gag, but she swallowed it down and squared her shoulders, refusing to reveal even a hint of fragility. "Well, Joe Don," she spat out, as though the name itself disgusted her. "You mind telling me what the _fuck_ I'm doing here?"

His hand snaked out like lightning, and he backhanded her hard across the cheek before she knew what was happening. "I told you it ain't polite for a lady to talk like that," he growled, looking pleased with himself.

Andrea felt a warm, sticky rivulet of blood dribble from her lip. She licked at it with her tongue and spat at the man's feet, refusing to cow to him. Her blue-green eyes were hard as she stared him down.

He quickly stifled a moment of surprise at her audacity, but not before Andrea caught a glimpse of it. "Merle said you'd be a tough little bitch," he scoffed, leering at her. "Never said what a sweet little piece of fruit you were though."

Her skin crawled under his lecherous gaze. "And where might Merle be?"

Joe Don sniggered. "He's out rustlin' up some food. Thought maybe you and I might be able to get better acquainted while he's gone." He ran the back of his filthy fingers down her cheek and she shivered with revulsion.

"I think I'll pass," she snipped dismissively.

His eyes darkened angrily and he roughly grabbed her chin with his hand, twisting her head to look at him. "You must be awfully thick," he snarled. "Do I gotta hit you again to remind you of how a lady ought to talk to a man?"

Never taking her eyes from his, Andrea calmly said, "I don't see how anyone who forces himself on a lady can call himself a man."

This time she saw the backhand coming. She nearly welcomed the sting in her cheek, taking it as evidence that she was getting under the man's skin. Despite the dangerous light in Joe Don's eyes, Andrea forced herself to keep her eyes trained on his and curled her lips into a slow smile. "Yeah, you're a _real_ man."

He got to his feet, looming over her as he began pointedly rolling up his sleeves. "I am gonna enjoy this," he hissed, clearly furious.

"Back off, Joe Don."

The man in question whirled to face the door and found himself looking at Merle. He shrank back from Andrea almost immediately. "Boss, you shoulda heard what she said to me," he whined, his puffed-up bravado swiftly evaporating.

Merle was on the man in a flash, gathering a fistful of the top of Joe Don's shirt and yanking him close. "I said back the hell off," he seethed, spittle flying from his lips.

"Okay, okay, Boss. I'm sorry." Joe Don suddenly seemed very small and pathetic.

"Go help Leroy with dinner," Merle ordered before shoving Joe Don out the door and slamming it behind him.

The display of power she'd just witnessed had Andrea struggling to maintain her fearless persona. There was an unpredictability to Merle, a promise of danger that was much harder to deny. Rick's handsome face wavered in front of her eyes and she grabbed it tightly with both hands, hugged it to her. When she was certain her voice wouldn't crack, she calmly said, "Good to see you again, Merle." There was no ignoring the contemptuousness in her tone.

Daryl's brother sat himself down on the milking stool Joe Don had left in front of her. "Good to see you too, sweet thing. You miss your old buddy Merle?"

She studied his expression, unable to tell if he was masking anger or revelling in his dominance. "Not even for a minute," she said smoothly. "You wanna tell me why the hell I'm here?"

Merle snickered. "You ain't figured it out yet?"

"Can't say that I have." Andrea's chin jutted forward stubbornly.

"Well now," he began with a self-satisfied smirk. "Why don't you make yourself real nice and comfortable-like, and I'll tell you a little story."


	31. Chapter 31

The air around Andrea felt suffocating as Merle began to speak.

"So let's see where you and I left off, shall we? I was handcuffed to a pipe, as I recall, and y'all took off runnin' cuz you heard Officer Friendly was arrivin' to save the day. I begged y'all not to leave me, and not a one of you cared. Well, 'cept that nigger. He was nice enough to throw that handcuff key down a pipe before runnin' away. I heard him chainin' up the door 'fore he starts yellin' 'wait for me!' like a little girl.

So there I was, hundred-degree weather, cookin' up on that roof like a damn fried egg. You know what that kinda heat does to a man when he ain't got no food and no water? First you feel your insides start to cook, 'fore they dry up into nothin'. Then the real fun begins when ya' start hallucinating. Got a visit from my drunk ol' daddy, then my mama shows up, still high as shit on the rock. And they didn't show up to bring me any comfort neither. Nah, they showed up just to call me a pussy, tell me how worthless I was. It was almost like bein' a kid again, I guess. Sometimes I'd think I was in this ol' shithole bar I used to go to, and I'd go to reach for a nice cold glass of beer, and them handcuffs would clang against the pipe, and all of a sudden I'd remember I was chained up on a roof. Every time it happened, it was like I was just realizing for the first time how fucked I was. Every goddamned time. Thought my worthless brother might at least show up, but I guess he had better things to do.

And there was that damn hacksaw, just outta reach. Goddamn, I nearly dislocated my arm tryin' to grab it. I finally managed to wrangle it after tossin' my belt at it for hours, tryin' to hook onto it. _Hours_. But once I did, I figured I was home free. I was gonna cut them damn handcuffs right off and find the whole bunch of y'all and stomp your heads right into the ground, watch y'all choke on your own teeth. And you'd have deserved it too, all of y'all. Leavin' me up there like some kinda goddamn wild animal.

But I guess Jesus had other ideas, 'cuz I swear I heard Him laughin' in my ear when I realized that damn hacksaw was dull as shit. Barely made a scratch on them cuffs. Chewed up the saw teeth like they were nothin'. And this whole time, the whole damned time, I can hear them walker freaks at the door, shakin' that chain 'round the door, moanin' and groanin' like I was the tastiest dinner there ever was. So what d'you suppose old Merle had to do, hmm? You think real hard about what my choices were. Your fuckin' pig hero left me alone, and made me do this." Merle paused and waved the stump where his hand had once been in Andrea's horrified face before continuing.

"You ever think about what that might be like, sugar? Cuttin' off your _own hand_? Lemme tell you, it ain't no picnic. I tied my belt 'round my arm to make a tourniquet and said goodbye to my hand. Then I started sawing. Hurt so bad I passed out 'fore I got very deep. Then I came to and _had to keep going_. I thought gettin' through the skin was bad, but good Lord, it got so much worse. After the skin, I had to go through nerves. You'd think that'd at least make it hurt less, but it didn't. After nerves came muscle. Passed out twice trying to get through that. I'd wake up thinkin' my arm was on fire and see the saw still jammed in there, and I'd have to go back to it. By the time I got to bone, I was screamin' like a stuck pig. Just sawin', back and forth, back and forth. I'd pass out, come to, and saw some more. Never thought I'd be so happy so see my own hand fall right off.

'Course even with the belt, I was still bleedin'. Crawled down a fire escape so's the walkers wouldn't get me. Smashed in a window on the first floor, and sliced up my one good hand somethin' fierce. Found two walkers waitin' for me when I got in there. There I was, stumblin' around with a bleedin' hand, head so fuzzy I could hardly see straight, and I gotta deal with two of them assholes. But I did. Jabbed 'em both real good with a chunk of that window glass, right through the eye. Best part of my day.

Found myself in some kind of staff kitchen place with a gas stove. Turned out it was still workin'. I don't know if that was good luck or not, 'cuz it gave me a way to take care of my arm, but goddamn was it ever an awful way to do it: I had to stick my bloody, raw stub of an arm in that there blue flame. You ever smell burnin' flesh? Stinks like a motherfucker. I mean, it is a _real_ awful smell, sweet cheeks. Like rottin' meat. But I reckon you were back at camp by then, sleepin' in your nice cosy bed with a full stomach while I _lit my own arm on fire_. Only passed out once this time around. Kind of a nice change of pace by that point.

With my arm all sealed up, I was ready to head back to camp and go hard on you folks. Fought my way through all them walker assholes in the streets. Had to keep holing up in empty stores so's I could get my strength back before making another run at it. Had to dig through garbage like some fuckin' animal, tryin' to find anything at all I could eat. You don't wanna know half the shit I was forced to put in my mouth. Sometimes I threw it up, sometimes not. Got lucky enough to find a couple puddles left by that rainstorm Officer Friendly got caught in. Drank that awful shit like it was goin' outta style. But I made it alright. Made it all the way back to camp. Ain't no goddamned apocalypse gonna keep me down. I been fightin' my whole life, and I guess it finally paid off. Now I think you know damn well what I found when I got back to that camp: _nothin'_. Not one single person left behind. S'pose that's lucky for you folks though 'cuz I wouldn't have left bodies; I'd have left _pieces_.

But see, here`s where things started to turn around for ol' Merle Dixon. I lit off into them woods and did a pretty good job survivin' out there too. All them beatings from my daddy made me a real tough son of a bitch. Don't know why it never took with my brother: some people are just born weak, I guess.

So after a while of livin' off the land, sleepin' in trees and whatnot, I come across these two boys just achin' for direction. They were just barely livin', them two. You already met Joe Don, so you know what a great guy he is. I 'spect you'll meet Leroy soon. I taught 'em how to hunt and survive, and it didn't take much beatin' 'fore they realized who was in charge.

Things were alright for a while there, too. Not many walkers, enough food to eat. But after a while, I guess we all need a little change a' scenery. We wanted some walls around us, some place to hole up and defend. It took some time, but we eventually came across this here barn you're in now. There was a lovely old couple livin' here not too keen on sharin', so we had to… talk 'em into lettin' us stay. Maybe I'll let you go out back sometime and pay your respects.

And now we get to the best part of the story. See, what really killed me was that I ain't never had a chance to give your Officer Friendly buddy a proper thank you for what he did to me. I mean, it was really eatin' me up inside, like all that hate just had no place to go. Then one day, I go out huntin' a little further than usual. It was real sunny out, and it made them woods real easy to see in. I hear some scufflin' and movin' goin' on, and I figure it's another one of them damn walkers. But then I hear voices, and I know walkers are too dumb to talk. So I crouch real low, keep real quiet-like. And I wait. Sure enough, I see two people come into view. And then I nearly bust out laughin' when I see who it is. I 'spect you know by now who it was, right? Yup, there in front of me was my no-good brother and the blonde, uppity bitch I remember from camp. And I watch you two for a good long while, tryin' to think on what I wanna do about it. My first thought was to punch the hell outta my baby brother and send him back to your people with your head. But then I realized I could use you both to do more than send a message. No, 'stead a killin' you, I could use you to lead me back to that fucking pig cop and give him what he had comin'. Crossed my fingers that he'd stuck around with you folk. So I followed you both right back to that sweet little setup you got now at that church.

Saw that you'd picked up some new folks along the way, and found you all got real good at settin' up a defence while I was gone. But you got no idea how happy I was the first time I saw Officer Friendly mosey on out that back door. Problem was, I couldn't seem to catch him alone. So I started watchin' the place real closely, tryin' to learn your patterns and routines, waitin' for the perfect opportunity to smoke that son of a bitch. 'Member how up on that roof, before y'all left me to die, the cop told me he was lookin' for his wife and kid? Well I figured out pretty damn quick that he'd found 'em, 'cuz I could see the way he was with that skinny redhead and that snot-nosed kid. So I started thinkin'and thinkin'. It occurred to me that a woman or a kid would be a lot easier to snatch up, and I could do a lot more to even the score with that bastard if I snagged one of them two. So now, you gotta imagine my surprise when I seen you come out that back door one night and meet up with Officer Friendly.

First I thought maybe y'all were just chattin', all friendly-like. But then the clothes came off and I got to watch you two go at it like a pair a' jackrabbits. And I don't mind tellin' you, I sure enjoyed your little show. Been a long time since I got to watch a skin-flick you know, and to see one live in front of my very eyes… well, I tell you what, I was real glad I still had one hand left.

Anyway, that little performance set me to thinkin' again, and I figured grabbin' you might be even more fun. And goddamn, was I ever right: after I watched you two bang up on that car, that dumbass just left you all alone there, ripe for the pickin'. And a'course, you know what happened after that."

His tale finally over, Merle took a deep breath and leaned backwards, studying Andrea with a lecherous smile.

For a minute, she was simply too stunned to speak. The maelstrom of emotions sparked by Merle's revelations was overwhelming. Rage, mortification, and terror all screamed for her attention, and she was incapable of focusing on any one feeling in particular. More over, she was too thrown to decide on the best strategy to use when responding: should she offer sympathy? Should she lash out angrily in a show of strength? Nothing in her life had ever prepared her to deal with a human being so consumed by hate.

"Somethin' wrong, sugar tits?" Merle drawled when she offered no immediate response. "Cat got your tongue?"

She stared at him. There was a darkness within his eyes that made her shiver involuntarily. Feeling exposed, her initial response was an honest one. "As much as I hate your guts, Merle – and I mean _hate_ – I'm sorry you got left on the roof. No one should have to go through something like that."

Her words seemed to anger him. "Listen you little bitch, I don't want your pity. I don't never want your goddamn pity," he snarled.

She blinked then furrowed her brow. "Fine," she replied flatly. "But you should know that we went back for you."

Merle smirked. "You must've taken your sweet time doin' it though. Maybe sometime after Officer Friendly's little family reunion?"

"Rick," Andrea said; just hearing the name said out loud made her feel stronger. "His name is _Rick_."

"Rick, huh? 'Least now I got a proper name to use when I'm wishin' for his death."

Trying to ignore the sentiment, Andrea hurried forward. "And it was _him_ who insisted we go back and get you, the very next day. He had to fight nearly the whole group to do it too." She thought back to the morning in question, remembering Lori's demand that her husband stay at camp. "He didn't have to fight your brother on it, though. Daryl was ready to go get you even if no one else joined him."

He appeared to mull the information over, then spat on the floor next to him. "That don't make no nevermind to me, baby. It don't change the fact that the pig left me chained up there in the first place, and it don't change the fact that I'm one hand short thanks to that asshole."

It was clear to Andrea that there was nothing she could say that would appease the man's burning need for revenge. His hatred ran too deep to be overcome with mere words. Her recognition of his immutability meant that she had only one question left to ask, and it was not a question she was sure she wanted answered. She squared her shoulders and levelled her gaze at Merle. "What are you going to do to Rick?"

The wide grin that slowly split his face was both insidious and terrifying. He laughed, a bone-chilling suggestion of what was to come. "Come now, darlin', you don't wanna ruin the surprise, do you? 'Sides, I seen those James Bond movies where the bad guy reveals his whole plan before it happens, and it always comes back to bite him in the ass. Nope, I ain't gonna tell you just yet." He leaned in close to Andrea; she felt bile rising in her throat as the stench of his warm breath wafted over her. "But don't worry: you're gonna have a front-row seat when the time comes, I promise you that."

Satisfied with the fear painted on Andrea's now-ashen complexion, he stood with a grunt and stretched dramatically, as though his story-telling had exhausted him. "Guess I oughta get you some water, maybe a little somethin' to eat. Can't have you dyin' on me 'fore you see my big surprise. 'Spose I'll send Leroy in with that stuff in a little while. You'll like him: dumb as a bag of hammers, but he's got a real impressive mean streak." He flashed Andrea one last wretched grin and left the room.

The moment the door shut behind him, she burst into tears.


	32. Chapter 32

_Sincere apologies for the loooong delay between postings! I wrote three full chapters before I realized I hated them, and scrapped them completely, then ran into the worst writer's block. But last week, I caught a student reading the very first Walking Dead comic instead of what he was supposed to be doing, and I realized that damnit, I had to get back to writing! (Also, that kid got in ZERO trouble, and his only punishment was to put up with his teacher rambling endlessly about the genius of Kirkman for twenty minutes). At any rate, here's three new chapters to accompany tonight's premiere - Yahoo!_

Daryl wasn't sure which was worse: having to call off the night's search for his friend due to the rapidly dwindling light, or the look on Rick's face when he told him that they had to do just that.

Logically, Rick knew that Daryl was right, that it would be pitch black out soon, and if they were caught in the woods when darkness fell, they'd make easy walker bait. But his emotions were running so high by that point that they were threatening to override the rational part of his mind. His internal struggle was heart-wrenching: just the thought of Andrea being forced to spend the night in Merle's presence made him physically nauseous. Ever since he'd identified Merle's lost bracelet, he'd been fighting tooth and nail to avoid thinking about what the man might be doing to the woman he loved. His fury had evolved to a level that even he found shocking, having never felt such anger in all of his life. With what little common sense he had left, he forced himself to accept Daryl's assessment of the situation, and joined the group in the long walk back to camp.

"I marked our path as we went," the redneck reassured Rick on the otherwise silent journey towards the church. "We can pick up tomorrow, right where we left off."

Rick nodded woodenly, only half-listening to the man.

"Goddamned racist cracker," T-Dog muttered, cursing Merle to no one in particular.

The quartet arrived back at camp just as the sun was dipping below the horizon. Seeking solitude, Rick immediately volunteered for sentry duty in the tower, leaving the other men with the distinct displeasure of informing the rest of the group that they had yet to find their kidnapped member.

Dinner was a sombre affair, as Daryl explained to those seated around the table that Merle's bracelet had been found. T-Dog enlightened the newcomers as to who Merle was and why he was seeking vengeance. God-fearing and up until recently, fairly isolated, Maggie, Beth, and Hershel all struggled to come to terms with the story, having avoided the true horrors of life with the walkers far longer than the rest. Maggie in particular looked horrified with the story, and she clutched Glenn's hand beneath the table as though he might disappear at any moment.

Thinking about the close relationship his own children shared, Hershel wiped at his mouth with a napkin and asked, "You think you could talk him out of this revenge if you found him?"

Daryl smirked, his eyes hard. "Hell, no. Merle's just about the toughest bastard I ever met, and I know him well enough to know that he probably hates me right now just as much as he hates everyone else. 'Sides, he's so damn stubborn, I ain't never seen anyone talk him out of anything. He's a mean guy, and he's got an even meaner temper."

In the tower, Rick struggled to come to grips with the situation. His mind conjured up one worst case scenario after another, leaving him with agonizing images of Andrea suffering in Merle's clutches. His knuckles purpled and bruised as he stormed around throwing punches at the tower's stone walls. His rage soon plummeted into grief, and he allowed himself to give in to the sobs that wracked his body. He'd barely managed to keep himself together during the day's hunt, but with no one around, he succumbed to the sorrow and fear that men are not supposed to feel, at least not publicly. He sat crumpled on the tower floor until his tears dried on his cheeks, and the tension eased from his muscles. He remembered Lori once telling him that sometimes all she needed was a good cry to feel better, and finally understood the claim. He felt mildly rejuvenated, and a new sense of determination welled up inside him. He was through with self pity, he told himself, and ready to be Andrea's hero. He would be the man she needed, and he would make her see that she was the only woman he wanted. He got to his feet and positioned himself at the tower window, taking up his guard duties with renewed zeal.

When T-Dog arrived to relieve Rick several hours later, he was faintly surprised at the strength emanating from the man in front of him. Gone were the shadows that had clouded the Sheriff's eyes throughout the day, and T-Dog almost felt sorry for Merle, knowing the retaliation he would soon be faced with.

Ravenous, Rick piled leftovers from dinner high on a plate and wolfed down his food before sinking into the pile of pillows and blankets on the bedroom floor. As he settled himself in for the night, he was aware of Lori's eyes scrutinizing him closely, but he had nothing for her, and deliberately turned his back to her before tumbling quickly into sleep, dreaming of the feel of Andrea in his arms, of the scent of her hair, of the weight of her body stretched across his.

He was rudely awakened at daybreak by the sound of the tower bell ringing insistently. "Shit," he muttered, trying to shake the sleep from his brain while fumbling for a pair of jeans and a cotton t-shirt. He dressed frantically, then went running from the rectory, bounding down the stairs two at a time.

He squinted up at the tower as he bolted towards it. He spotted T-Dog's head in the window. "Walkers?" he yelled up at the man.

"No, visitor," T-Dog hollered back, pointing towards the perimeter of the church grounds.

Rick turned in the direction of T-Dog's gesture and saw Hershel talking to a strange man. As the Sheriff began to walk towards them, he saw the farmer raise his rifle and level it at the unknown man's chest. Rick's hand automatically went to his Python, and his pace sped up dramatically.

"Who is he?" Rick called out as he approached.

"Says he's hear to talk to you," Hershel returned, his eyes never leaving his target. "Says he knows where Andrea is."

Rick's expression rapidly darkened, and without a break in his stride, he immediately grabbed the man by the collar and shook him. "Where is she?" he ground out. "And who the hell are you?"

The man threw up his hands in surrender. "Name's Joe Don," he squeaked, intimidated by the anger he saw in Rick's steely blue eyes. "Merle sent me."

"And?"

Joe Don swallowed nervously. "And he wants you to come back to our place with me. Says he'll let her go if you come."

Rick released the man from his iron grip, and Joe Don made a big show out of straightening his shirt, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.

Looking sidelong at the farmer, the Sheriff said, "Can you keep an eye on this guy for a minute? I'm gonna go grab the guys."

Merle's henchman was quick to shake his head vigorously. "Nuh-uh, the boss says you gotta come alone."

Rick's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the man in front of him.

Aware that Rick was considering Merle's demands, Hershel swiftly interjected. "Rick, you can't. It's suicide."

"If he don't come, the girl ain't gonna keep livin'," Joe Don announced smugly, then immediately shrank back when Rick whirled on him, fury bubbling just under the surface. "Ain't you ever heard of not shooting the messenger?" Joe Don whined instantly, taking an involuntary step backwards.

The Sheriff ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. Drawing a deep breath, he turned to look at Hershel. "Doesn't look like I have a choice here, Doc."

Finally shifting his gaze to Rick, Hershel realized with a sinking sensation that the Sheriff was not about to be swayed in his decision. He'd been suspicious for some time about Rick's feelings for Andrea, and the determination on the man's face now told him that his instincts were probably right. As such, he knew there would be no talking Rick out of taking any risks necessary to bring Andrea home safely. Hershel sighed. "Guess you better go grab some rations, maybe let the group know what's happening."

Joe Don's eyebrows flew upwards at the mention of food. "Rations? Hell, my gut's rumblin' somethin' fierce. You wanna maybe rustle up some grub for me too?"

In perfect unison, Hershel and Rick both stared at the stranger and barked, "Shut up."


	33. Chapter 33

"This is insane," Lori muttered angrily.

Rick stood in front of the group, and the faces looking back at him from around the kitchen table almost unanimously echoed Lori's sentiment. He furrowed his brow and stared at his wife. "She saved your life, Lori," he reminded her with disbelief. "Yours too," he flung at Carol, meeting her disapproving expression. "In fact, she nearly _died_ after she saved you from that walker back at the farm. Hell, she almost died before that in the housing complex where she went looking for Sophia! She was swarmed by walkers, according to Shane."

Carol looked away, shame creeping across her face.

Feeling his irritation growing, Rick barrelled on. "She gave up a peaceful death to save Dale's life! When that herd showed up here, she picked off walkers that would have otherwise eaten T-Dog, and Daryl, and Glenn!" His expression was hard as he looked from one face to the next. "You think any of us would be alive if we'd lost those three? For God's sake, she's been bringing home food to feed all of us for weeks! We can't lose anyone else! And those of you who knew Merle, you really just wanna leave her to that sick son of a bitch?"

Daryl stood abruptly. "I'm with you, boss. If we do this right, maybe we won't have to lose either one of you."

Rick nodded gratefully at the redneck, his eyes conveying a silent thanks.

Glenn reached for Maggie's hand and squeezed it tightly before he too stood. "He's right," he said to the group as a whole, trying to ignore the horrified look on Maggie's face. "I think I might have an idea for rescuing her."

T-Dog didn't stand, but he nodded soberly. "I'm the one who drove off the farm without her. I can't live with abandoning her again."

"Oh, this is just _great_," Lori spat.

Rick felt a tug at his shirtsleeve. He looked down and found his son staring up at him with eyes so much like his own. "You gotta do it, Dad. She's my friend. Plus she saved Mom's life. You gotta bring her back."

The Sheriff smiled and ruffled the boy's hair. "Thank you, Carl." He was visibly moved by his son's support, and blinked back tears that pricked at the back of his eyes. When he directed his gaze at Lori, he was startled by the anger he saw in her face. She stood wordlessly and stalked from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Rick tried to shrug off his wife's anger, wanting to make sure that all of his focus was placed squarely on planning Andrea's rescue. He composed himself before speaking again. "I don't want to leave Hershel alone with that scumbag for too long, so let's get this show on the road." He turned to look at the Korean man. "You said you had an idea, Glenn? Let's hear it."

"Yep!" Glenn returned enthusiastically. "Gimme a minute." He bounded towards the kitchen cupboards and began frantically opening and closing cupboard doors, clearly searching for something.

Daryl and Rick exchanged bemused glances, both men shrugging their shoulders at one another.

"I know it's here somewhere…" Glenn muttered. He turned from the cupboards with a frown, and looked around. His eyes fell on the pantry door. "Aha!" he declared, rushing towards it. He threw the door open and disappeared inside for a moment; a triumphant whoop several seconds later signalled that he had found what he was looking for. He emerged and proudly held aloft a bag of rice.

Daryl furrowed his brow. "Uh, I know you Asians love your rice, but now's not really the time," he quipped.

Glenn rolled his eyes. "Oh, you're _hilarious_," he grumbled. "Listen, if we poke a little hole in this bag, and Rick tears a little hole in his pants pocket, the rice should fall out slowly, and he'll leave a trail for us to follow. That way we can all track him back to wherever Merle's at without being noticed by the jackass waiting out there."

Rick's lips curled into a slow smile, clearly impressed with the younger man's ingenuity.

"It'll be like Hansel and Gretel," Carl chirped.

Glenn beamed and winked at the boy. "That's it, little man! Except I kind of doubt that Merle lives in a house made of candy."

Carl giggled at the thought.

"I like it, Glenn," the Sheriff said. "It's simple and effective. Nice work."

The Korean man nodded, spine straightening with pride. He walked to a kitchen drawer and slid it open, unearthing a pair of scissors and handing them to Rick. While the defacto leader turned out a pocket and carefully cut a hole in it, Glenn found a fork and used it to perforate the plastic surrounding the rice, then passed the bag to Rick.

The Sheriff carefully slid the bag into his pocket and took several experimental steps around the kitchen. Tiny grains of rice began to tumble slowly from Rick's pant leg, each one making an almost imperceptible sound as it skittered across the linoleum.

Daryl crouched and surveyed the results of the test. He rubbed his chin. "Might get a little hard to track you in thicker underbrush, but as long as I know what I'm looking for, I reckon' this should work just fine."

Rick took a deep breath. "Okay," he said on an exhale. "Make sure you give me a decent head start before you follow: we don't want to tip that little weasel off. Don't wait too long though either. Once I get there, I don't know how long I'll have before Merle tries to kill me." He looked over at the men in the room. "You'll have to signal me somehow when you get there. If there's anything I can do to work the attack on my end, that signal will let me know when to do it."

"If cartoons are any indication, an owl hoot might be the way to go," suggested T-Dog wryly.

Rick smiled. "Owl hoot it is," he agreed.

Straightening back up again, Daryl folded his arms across his chest and said, "We'll take up positions to encircle the place without being noticed when we get there. Once we've got that damn brother of mine surrounded, we'll give the signal. I suspect we'll all have to do some improvising once we move in."

"Nobody I'd rather have watching my back," Rick said with sincerity, looking at the men around him. "Any other questions?"

The men looked at one another, then back at the Sheriff. They all shook their heads.

Rick dropped a quick kiss on Carl's head. "I love you, son," he said tenderly. "Take care of Mom while I'm gone."

The child nodded gravely, clearly taking the request to heart. "I love you too, Dad," he returned, giving his father a firm hug.

Rick took one final look at the group around him, feeling the full weight of leadership on his shoulders. "Alright," he finally sighed. "I'll see you all soon."


	34. Chapter 34

Andrea awoke, stiff and exhausted, to the sound of voices seeping through the walls of her prison. She blinked her eyes, disoriented, trying to recall where she was. Her neck muscles screamed in protest and she attempted to lift her hand to rub them. The feel of coarse rope against skin rubbed raw brought her current predicament sailing back into focus, and she struggled against the immediately ensuing panic. In an effort to calm herself, she focused on her breathing, drawing in gulps of air and blowing them out slowly, her breath reedy and shaky.

The voices on the other side of the wall were too muffled for her to pick up any specific words, but there was a noticeable excitement to her captors' tones. She quickly scanned the dank room around her for anything that might aid in her escape, and was dismayed when nothing presented itself.

The swift opening of the door startled her, and she looked up to see Merle framed in the doorway. There was a disturbing glint to his eyes.

"Good mornin', darlin'," he drawled. "Sleep well?"

Andrea scrutinized the man in front of her. "Go to hell," she muttered.

The smile that split Merle's face was deeply unsettling. "Aw, darlin', that ain't no way to greet a man bringing you drink." With one grubby, meaty hand, he thrust a canteen her way.

"Geez, I'd _love_ to reach out and take that from you, but I'm a little tied up at the moment," she spat with sarcasm.

"Oh right," Merle replied smugly. "Open wide then, girlie."

Despite her disgust with her captor, Andrea reasoned that she'd never escape if she grew weak with dehydration. She tilted her head back slowly, and greedily drank as Merle poured water from the canteen into her mouth. The liquid tasted acrid and smelled brackish.

When the canteen was empty, Merle hung it by its strap around his neck and surveyed Andrea closely. Without taking his eyes from her, he reached slowly into his pants pocket. He withdrew a switchblade, snapping it open dramatically as his lips twisted into a sneer.

Andrea sat stock still and tried not to look scared as he waggled the weapon beneath her nose. When he was certain he had her frightened, he stooped slowly and used the knife to saw through the ropes binding her feet.

The second Andrea's bindings fell away, she thrust one leg forward and delivered a powerful kick, catching Merle off guard as her foot connected with his jaw. He was knocked back several feet, and she took the opportunity to attempt standing up. Unfortunately, her wrists were still bound to the chair, and as she struggled into an upright position, she brought the chair up with her, causing the seat to hit hard against the back of her thighs. The motion caused her knees to buckle, and she quickly lost her balance; she fell hard on her side, wincing at the sharp pain that immediately exploded in her hip.

Merle was momentarily dazed, and it took him a moment to figure out how he'd wound up sprawled on the mouldy hay. He shook his head, brining his fingers to his already bruised jaw. He drew his hand back with surprise as he felt a tiny rivulet of blood running from his mouth down his chin, carefully inspecting the red liquid smeared across his fingers. He shifted his eyes to Andrea and instead of anger, offered her an unnerving laugh. He drew himself up slowly, then moved to stand over her. "Now that wasn't very nice," he said looking down at her immobilized body on the floor. "I try to do somethin' nice for you, and you kick me in the face." He reached for the chair and jerked into an upright position, enjoying the pain he saw etched on his captive's face as her aching body was jolted upwards along with the chair. "If I didn't have somethin' real special to show you, I might just leave you hear to rot like the dirty bitch you are."

Andrea held his gaze. "Coward," she growled.

Again Merle laughed. "I reckon you'll change your tune once you see what I've got planned."

She shivered involuntarily at the hint of sadism in his voice. Whatever the man was ramping up to, she knew she wasn't going to like it.

He picked the dropped switchblade up from the floor, and she leaned away from him as far as her bindings would allow as he reached behind her and cut the ropes around her wrists. Wary of retaliation this time, he brought the blade to her neck as soon as the last of the rope gave way. "Don't even think about trying to get the drop on me again," he hissed in her ear. He waited for her to nod her understanding, then grabbed her upper arm roughly and yanked her to her feet.

She wavered as she stood, her legs weakened by their long spell of inactivity. Slowly lifting her leaden arms, she arched her stiff back and rubbed at her neck, trying to alleviate the pain brought on by all the knots in her muscles. Suddenly and without warning, she felt the force of Merle's hand as he backhanded her across the cheek; the sheer power behind the blow had her seeing stars for a moment.

Taking advantage of her stunned state, Merle jerked her so that she was nearly flush with his body. "You ever hit me again and that smack across the face will feel like a tickle compared to what I'll do to you," he snarled, his rancid breath assaulting Andrea's nostrils.

Refusing to cower, Andrea looked him squarely in the eye, her anger blatant beneath her calm expression. "You and Joe Don sure do have a way with women."

Merle grinned. "That show I promised you is just about to start. We better get goin', lest we miss it."

A sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, Andrea staggered forward, blinking into the light as Merle pulled her forward, his fingers biting into her arm. She looked around as she stepped from the room she'd been imprisoned in, getting her first glimpse of her kidnappers' living quarters. Much of the hay that must have covered the main room at one time had been swept into corners where it gathered dust and cobwebs. Along one wall, old rusted tools hung precariously from bent nails, and she tried not to think about their sharp points and jagged teeth. An old picnic table was set up in the center of the space, littered with small animal bones and filthy utensils. There were a few wooden chairs dotted around the room, some laying on their sides, all in various stages of disrepair. The air felt thick and acrid. A trio of palettes had been dragged to one end of the room, and tattered blankets suggested that the area was used for sleeping. Several mice darted in and out of the shadows, scrounging for food.

At the table sat a man she'd never met, and she deduced that this must be Leroy. His dark hair was thick and wild, sticking straight up at ridiculous angles. A heavy beard concealed his jaw, and his face bore several jagged scars. Like a satire of a backwoods farmer, he wore a dirty pair of overalls, but no shirt. He didn't share the same threatening, dangerous air as his roommates, and he regarded Andrea without the sleazy leer that seemed to come so naturally to Merle and Joe Don. _And speaking of…_ she thought as she scanned the room for the third member of Merle's crew, and found him conspicuously absent.

"Everything ready out there?" Merle asked the other man in the room.

He nodded. "Joe Don's out there now, waitin' on you."

Merle's smile was overly-toothy and malicious. "You oughta come out too: you don't wanna miss this."

Leroy nodded again, though Andrea thought she sensed hesitation in the man.

With an impatient shove from Merle, she stumbled out into the afternoon sun, surrounded on all sides by a nearly pristine wilderness. On any other day she would have revelled in the feel of the sun's warm rays on her shoulders, and the crisp scent of fresh grass in the air, but today was not any other day. Something awful loomed large in the forefront of her mind, and all she could sense was an ominous foreboding.

"This way, girlie," Merle intoned as he half-dragged her by the arm, his large strides quickly carrying him around the outside of the barn.

Andrea squinted as her eyes tried to adjust to the bright light. She took the opportunity to study the surrounding area, trying to orient herself should any possibility for escape present itself.

The scene that awaited them as they rounded the barn corner took Andrea's breath away, and tears sprang almost instantly to her eyes.

There was a large circle of hard-packed, barren earth, and in the centre stood Joe Don. He was leaning against an old water pump, its once-red paint now a crumbling façade of rust and dirt. A chain had been looped through several bolts holding the base of the pump in the ground. Her eyes travelled the length of the chain and saw that it ended in a shackle. The shackle was snapped tightly around an arm dangling limply. Slouched against the pump, completely unconscious, was a body, slumped and still. She swallowed and forced herself to look at the immobile figure's face. Her heart stopped as her eyes took in painfully familiar features: it was Rick.


	35. Chapter 35

Even Merle had the good sense to realize that he wasn't going to be able to prevent Andrea from running to the Sheriff. He put up very little fight as she wrenched herself from his grip and ran towards the man chained to the pump. Merle paused to survey the scene with interest, knowing she wouldn't try to escape as long as her lover was still incapacitated.

"Rick!" she screamed running towards him, fearing the worst. She landed hard on her knees in front of him, and her hands immediately went to his face. She ran her fingers gingerly across his features, murmuring his name like an incantation. Her hand made contact with something sticky, and she realized there was a stream of blood running from a gash just above his temple. Panicked, she pressed two fingers to the side of his neck, and her heart thrilled at the feeling of a faint pulse beneath her touch. "Rick," she breathed, smoothing his hair back. "Oh God, what've they done to you?" She swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. "Wake up, baby. Please, wake up."

When the Sheriff failed to open his eyes, she threw her arms around him, resting her head in the valley between his shoulder and neck. He was too cold, too clammy, she thought. This man had always been survival personified, and his current state was so at odds with that notion, her brain simply couldn't process it. "Please, Rick, please…" she sniffled into his ear. The desperation she heard in her own voice made her feel weak, and she abruptly switched tactics in an effort to regain a modicum of control. She pulled away from him and grabbed his head on either side. "Wake up, goddamn you," she demanded to his slack visage. "I need you in this fight. Carl needs you in this fight. Get back here and fight."

Though her vision was blurred by tears, she thought for a second that she saw his lips move, ever so slightly. She immediately brought her ear to hover above his mouth, but before she could confirm anything, a set of fingers grabbed her roughly around one arm and yanked her to her feet. "No!" she yowled, looking up to see Joe Don's cruel features smirking as he tried to drag her from Rick. Frantic, she lunged forward and sank her teeth into the back of his hand, biting down hard, feeling his skin rupture.

"Goddamnit!" he howled, dropping her back to the ground and cradling his hand as he hopped around in pain. "You little bitch!"

Andrea didn't even bother to savour the reaction, and instead skidded back to the ground next to Rick. She was vaguely aware of a scuffle behind her as Joe Don swore to kill her and Merle intervened.

"She ain't no good to us dead," Merle hissed at his henchman, shoving the man away from Andrea. Joe Don careened backwards from the force of Merle's action, stumbling in reverse before tripping and winding up splayed on the ground.

"She fuckin' bit me!" Joe Don whined.

Merle almost laughed at the pathetic sod, cursing his luck for having found such a weak man to do his bidding. "Jesus, stop bitchin' and moanin' like a little girl," he chastised with a roll of his eyes. "You can bite her back later, alright? Once all's said and done here, I'll let you have a go at her."

The promise appeared to soothe Joe Don's present need for revenge, and he clumsily got to his feet, still clutching his now-bloody injured hand.

Merle grabbed a filthy rag from his back pocket and hurled it at Joe Don. "Clean yourself up," he commanded, before picking up where the other man had left off, hauling Andrea off the ground with his one good hand.

She looked up at him, her eyes wild and frenzied, her muscles tensed for another fight. Merle was quick to remind her of his earlier warning about what would happen if she came after him again. "You remember what I told you, Sugar Tits. You try any shit with me, and you will wish you were dead before I'm done. And when I finish with you, you best believe I'll be goin' after your pathetic boyfriend next."

With the fight temporarily sucked out of her by the threat to Rick, Merle was able to effectively manoeuvre her. He swung her hard to the other side of the water pump and tripped her so that she fell squarely on her backside, dust pluming up around her from the arid dirt. The back of her head slammed against the pump with a sickening thud, and she saw the world waver briefly in front of her. Before she could plot her next move, Andrea felt a thick, iron shackle being slapped around her wrist. She stared dumbly at it, as though baffled by its very existence. Furrowing her brow, she tugged on the chain experimentally, and found that no slack had been left in it; indeed, it was so short that she couldn't even twist her body around to see Rick. She brought a withering gaze to Merle's smug expression, carefully masking any fear she was feeling. "Congratulations," she ground out. "You've managed to chain us both up. Is there a point to any of this?"

For what felt like the millionth time, Merle's sinister smile sent chills down her spine. "'Course there is, sweetheart. But I don't like to repeat myself, so let's just wait for good ol' Officer Friendly to rejoin the land of the living, huh? That way, I can tell you both at the same time what your future holds." He shifted his attention to Joe Don. "Go get the stuff, will ya?"

"Sure thing, boss," Joe Don replied amiably, looking far too excited for Andrea's liking. He disappeared around the corner of the barn.

Unwilling to dwell on what the requested 'stuff' might be, Andrea instead reached around behind herself with her free arm, groping until her fingers made contact with Rick's shoulder. She grabbed on and shook him without any of her previous tenderness. "Rick," she said firmly, her tone clipped and insistent. "Wake up, goddamnit. Come on, wake up." She jiggled his body with all her strength, in dire need of a partner to face the impending madness with.

At long last, she heard a moan from behind her. It was faint, and barely audible, but she knew she had heard it. "Rick," she implored. "Rick, it's me. I'm here."

A moment passed where all she could hear was the sound of her own breathing. She squeezed his shoulder. Finally, she blew out a long breath she hadn't realized she was holding when she felt Rick's fingers slide over hers. He gripped her hand fiercely as her name tumbled from his lips. "Oh, thank God," she murmured with relief.

"Where's… where's here?" she heard him rasp from the other side of the pump.

"Merle's barn," she whispered. "He's got us chained back-to-back."

She heard the clang of the chain as Rick tugged at it just as she had. "Damnit," he grumbled. He slumped backwards and closed his eyes. The cold metal of the pump seeped through his clothing as he made every effort to assess his situation. "What's between us?"

"That'd be a water pump," Merle drawled.

The Sheriff looked for the first time up at the one-armed man, and made no effort to hide his contempt. Instead, Rick glared at him intently, naked anger etched into every line of his face. "Merle Dixon," he spat. His captor's face looked considerably more haggard than it had been the last time he'd seen it, and his hair had grown wiry and dishevelled. "You got old."

Merle snorted. "Could say the same of you, _Sheriff_," he sneered, as though just saying the job title out loud left a foul taste in his mouth. "Remember how you hooked me to a pipe up on that roof in Atlanta? Well, I learned that pipes ain't got no give, and there ain't no way to yank 'em up from the ground. Soon as I saw this here pump, I knew it'd be perfect for what I got in mind."

"Look," Rick said, his tone even and measured as he narrowed his eyes at the man looming over him. "Whatever beef you've got with me, she's got nothing to do with it. How about you let her go, and we settle this like men."

Squatting in front of Rick, Merle snorted. "Yeah, see here's the thing. You weren't being much of a _man_ when you left me chained up on that roof, so I'm gonna have to say 'no' to that idea."

"Damnit, Merle, we went back for you," Rick blurted. "And I gave that key to T-Dog so we could bring you back with us in the first place! It's the goddamned _apocalypse_, for Christ's sake. We've all lost people. We should be coming together to fight walkers, not each other." He looked the one-arm man squarely in the eye. "I swear to God, it was never my intention to just leave you trapped up there."

Andrea's heart broke at the sincerity in Rick's last statement, realizing he'd probably been carrying around this particular guilty burden since the day it happened.

Merle leaned towards Rick, bringing his face uncomfortably close to the Sheriff's. "I may not know much," he conceded with a deceptive calm. "But I know what the road to hell's paved with. Fact is, you cuffed me up there, and you cost me a hand, so now you gotta pay." His lips twisted into an insidious smirk. "Fact that I get to use the sweet little peach sittin' behind you to _really_ stick it to you is just a big fat bonus."

The crunch of dirt beneath a pair of boots drew the attention of the triad positioned around the pump, though Rick's view to the wearer of those boots was obscured.

Andrea, on the other hand, could see the approaching Joe Don clearly, and she swallowed nervously at the objects he carried. She watched as the man lumbered over to Merle and handed him a hacksaw. He then moved a short distance away from the pump and set up the three ratty old lawn chairs he'd also brought back with him, carefully arranging them so that whoever sat in them would have a clear view of Rick and Andrea simultaneously.

Merle moved to one side of the pump so the chained-up pair could both see him in their peripheral vision. "Alright you two, listen up," he began with the pomp of a circus barker. "Welcome to my revenge!"

Now seated comfortably in a lawn chair, Joe Don clapped and cheered with unholy enthusiasm.

"Here's how this is gonna work," Merle continued, smug and confident. "I want you, Officer Friendly, to know just what it felt like for me to be all alone on the roof up there. I'm gonna give you this here saw, and you're gonna decide what to do with it. To help you narrow down your choices, you ought to know that this here blade is too dull to cut through that chain you're attached to. Me, Merle, and Leroy, we're all gonna sit in them lawn chairs over yonder and watch you work this out. We ain't gonna give you any food or water neither. So you can either let you and your lady here die of starvation and thirst, or you can free yourself the only way possible." He casually tossed the hacksaw at Rick's feet. "Either way, it should be one hell of a show."


	36. Chapter 36

Before Merle even managed to plunk himself down in the chair next to Joe Don, Andrea's nervous system had instantly ramped up to full-blown panic. "Merle, you son of a bitch!" she screamed at his receding back, struggling futilely against the chain binding her, her movements frantic. "You can't do this, goddamnit! You hear me? Get back over here and let us go, you bastard!" The shackle cut into her wrist as she squirmed and bucked like a rabid animal; she felt the blood dribble down her hand and drip from her fingers, but she didn't care.

"Andrea."

The sound of Rick's voice rasping her name from somewhere close behind her brought an immediate measure of calm to the pending volcanic eruption in her head.

"Andrea," he said again, and she closed her eyes and let his voice wash over her, tried to hold on to the sound of it, long after the wind had carried it away.

Rick reached blindly behind himself, groping for a piece of Andrea to grab on to. His fingers connected with her arm, and he moved his hand down its length until he felt her fingers beneath his. He wrapped her hand with his own, linking their fingers together, and tracing reassuring circles gently across the back of her hand with his thumb. "It's going to be okay," he soothed, without any trace of uncertainty.

Andrea sighed and tried to draw strength from their physical contact. When she spoke, she sounded dejected and morose, even to her own ears. "Rick, listen, the group can't afford to have you lame, so you're going to take off my hand, okay? Just do it quick, and if we're lucky, I'll pass out and not have to feel any of it."

She heard Rick draw a breath, knew he was gearing up for a protest, and she opted to cut him off. "We're not arguing about this Rick; it's done, alright? I can shoot just fine with one hand, and we only need to free up one end of this chain to get out of here. You lose your hand, and that'll puts a way bigger hole in the group's security than losing mine would. And-"

"Andrea," Rick managed to interject. "I appreciate the offer, but it's not-"

Now fully ensconced in lawyer mode, Andrea refused to let him finish. "Damnit, Rick, I don't want to argue about this. Don't make this a "white-knight-saving-the-damsel" thing, for Christ's sake. I'm not some shrinking violet. We do what's best for the group as a whole, right? Well, this is what's right. So let's just fucking do this and get it over with." Having completed her rant, she felt short of breath, and concentrated on regulating her breathing as she squeezed her eyes shut. When she realized no response was forthcoming from the Sheriff, she cracked one eye open and cleared her throat. "Rick?"

"Just wanted to make sure you're finished," he drawled dryly. "Are you?"

Andrea chewed her lower lip, thrown by Rick's apparent serenity. "Unless you're about to argue with me, then yeah, I guess I'm done," she grumbled.

"Good," he declared, sounding a little too cocky for Andrea's liking. "Because now it's my turn." His long inhale was exaggerated and deliberate. "First of all, do you really think Merle would be satisfied with _you_ losing _your_ hand? He wants to see me suffer, not you. You think I'll just lop your hand off, and he'll let us go? Because I'm betting that if I cut off your hand, Merle'll just tie us back up again and make me cut off my own too."

Andrea slouched slightly, recognizing the truth behind Rick's words. How had she not thought of that? She bristled and begrudgingly replied, "Okay, fine, maybe you're right about that. But I won't just sit here and let you-"

Rick silenced her by clearing his throat. "I thought you said you were done," he reminded her, sounding almost amused despite their desperate situation. He heard Andrea mutter some obscenities, and couldn't help but smile. "What I was getting to," he continued, lowering his voice so that she had to strain to hear him. "Is that backup is on the way."

Behind him, Andrea's eyebrows shot upwards, and she immediately tried to mask her surprise, worried that Merle might grow suspicious. "Backup?" she hissed over her shoulder.

"Yup," Rick confirmed confidently. "Glenn, Daryl, and T-Dog should all be here soon. I left a trail for them. Listen for an owl hoot: that's the signal that they're about to start it up."

"An owl hoot?" Andrea whispered, shaking her head with disbelief.

"T-Dog says it works in cartoons," Rick returned, squeezing her hand comfortingly.

She quickly smothered a giggle, then instinctively scanned her surroundings, looking for any sign of their rescuers. She caught a glimpse of Leroy peering around a corner of the barn at them. Seizing the opportunity, she offered him a kind smile. Realizing he'd been spotted, then man quickly turned and disappeared out of sight, but his retreat was a split-second too late: Andrea had seen him smile back.

"I think Leroy might be looking to switch sides," Andrea murmured softly over her shoulder. "He just smiled at me."

"Who the hell is Leroy?"

"Third guy in Merle's group," she replied to Rick. "You didn't see him when you got here?"

He shook his head before he remembered that Andrea couldn't see him. "No," he said. "That Joe Don scum picked me up at the church and brought me back here. I only saw Merle for a few seconds when we got here, before Joe Don beaned me and I passed out." He sighed. "Wish I could've seen you before I got all trussed up here." Rick had to force himself to ask his next question, terrified of the answer, but needing to know. "Did any of those guys… touch you?"

She felt Rick's hand tighten considerably around hers as he asked. "No," she quickly informed him, hearing him exhale with relief behind her. "I think Joe Don was looking to, but Merle stopped him before he could get anywhere."

"Thank God," he muttered softly, though he was still itching to take a close look at Andrea, examine her with his own eyes for any injuries. _Goddamn, I just want to look at her for the sake of seeing her, _he thought to himself. Still, he told himself, now was not the time to bask in hopeful yearnings. "They took my Python," he told her. "Any idea where they might have stashed something like that?"

"No. I didn't see much of the inside of the barn," she said. "I was locked in this little room for most of the time." Hearing Rick cuss, she hurriedly told him, "It really wasn't that bad, I promise."

"Would you tell me if it had been?"

Andrea smiled to herself: even when he couldn't see her, he could read her like a book. "Yes," she lied.

The Sheriff snorted derisively.

To keep Rick from dwelling on the matter, Andrea swiftly changed the subject. "What do we do when we hear the signal?"

"We distract Merle and that other idiot so the boys can move in without being noticed." The confidence in Rick's voice was unmistakable.

"Hmm," Andrea mused, casting about for an idea as to how she might accomplish such a thing. "I'll tell you right now, I could put Joe Don out of commission for a couple of hours if I flashed him." The suggestion was deliberately ridiculous, an attempt to remind the Sheriff that she was the same woman she'd always been, undamaged and strong.

The tactic seemed to work: she heard a low chuckle from the other side of the pump. "Don't even think about it," he growled, and she closed her eyes and pictured the smile he had to be wearing: the curve of his lips under all that stubble, the unintended sensuality inherent in his slow, enthralling grin were forever tattooed on her brain.

"How do you figure we'll get out of these chains once our backup arrives?" she asked.

"I'm hoping maybe we can find some bolt cutters or something in the barn," Rick offered. "Which means we're gonna have to play defence until someone frees us up." He twisted his head in her direction. "You got anything over there you can use as a weapon?"

Andrea reluctantly drew her fingers from Rick's and ran her hand in a sweeping semi-circle over the ground around her. She came up empty, finding nothing but gravel and a few tiny pebbles. "Nothing," she informed her fellow captive, bringing her hand back to his, already in need of his touch once again.

"Damn. Alright, I think we can-"

A low hoot stopped Rick mid-sentence. In perfect unison, he and Andrea each took a long, deep breath. Jaw tensed in a hard line, the Sheriff gave her hand one final squeeze. "It's go time," he said.


End file.
